


Sugar Free

by eggjam



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humor, Later sexual content, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggjam/pseuds/eggjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, there's this guy. He's not really hot, like how you'd imagine, but there's something magnetic about him anyway." - Dave Strider on how to justify habitual stalking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kombucha Threat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [conditioner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conditioner/gifts).



> based on this [headcanon](http://moeartea.tumblr.com/post/19331718024/john-is-a-waiter-at-a-cafe-or-something-that-dave%0A) and [this gorgeous art piece](http://loonytwin.tumblr.com/post/19535850086/welp-idk-where-i-am-going-with-this-but-yeah-i) for said headcanon.

"Perhaps if you left this apartment for a while, took in some fresh air, ideas might better come to you," she said. He shrugged, unlit cigarette hanging half out of his mouth as he fished around in his cluttered dresser drawers for a lighter.

"You're a real peach, Lalonde. Why didn't I ever think of that before? Breathing, man, revolutionary. If only I had been doing that all along." Usually, he kept more than one around, but he guessed it had joined in on the borderline legendary game of hide and seek he had been playing with the other lighters he had lost over the years. He heard a familiar click behind him and turned to see her holding open a sleek, silver zippo, one he'd had monogrammed for her nineteenth birthday three years before. She smoked three inch-long grandmother cigs that she rolled herself out of an actual cigarette holder that he swore she'd gone back in time to steal from some flapper in a shady speak-easy at the height of the 20's.

"You really are a peach," he said, walking over the dirty clothes but making sure to avoid stepping on his CD cases as he stopped in front of where she leaned against the door frame. She lit him up and then snapped the cap shut over the flame, slipping it back into the pocket of her jean vest with her plum-painted fingers.

"At least open a window and let some light in. You're beginning to bear an uncanny resemblance to an emaciated albino laboratory rat." Her violet eyes slipped past the low curve of his shoulders to scrutinize the disaster area that was his bedroom. Without having to say a word, he knew she was disdainfully eying the pizza box he'd left sitting on top of his DVD rack. It probably wouldn't have annoyed her so much if the box wasn't sporting a promotional advert which had expired two months before. He'd been torn between throwing it away and being too worried that picking it up would wake up a a nest of rats or roaches or something.

"Says Casper."

"Leave this apartment and rejoin the rest of society, or I'll redecorate while you're sleeping."

"It's kind of a sty, anyway. Could use a woman's touch."

"Using the grimoire as a reference guide."

"Jesus fuck and Mary- Agh, fine, okay, I'm going. Let yourself out while I get glamorous." She smiled at him, and he hated her a little for being so gorgeous, convinced she was the only person on the planet who could look good in a ratty old denim vest, black lipstick, and a floor-length skirt. Who even dressed like that after they saw their hideous eighth grade yearbook photos? He did everything he could to be a suave, untouchably cool gentleboy, and she just exuded this air of flawlessness even when it seemed like she did everything in her power to be as lame as possible. She stood up on her toes to kiss one cheek and pat the other, and he rolled his eyes.

"I'll call you later to make sure you get some lunch before the kids in Africa start sending you money."

"My phone will be dead."

"Make plans to resurrect it, or mother might call instead."

"Stay your forked tongue and leave my temple, she-devil," he said, waving her off, and she turned, leaving him to stew about how much he didn't want to leave his private sanctuary to go mingle with the perfect clusterfuck of humanity that was San Francisco. Usually when she bugged him about going out, he'd give her a standard excuse: My house is my office, I'm making a new video, I'm working on a new remix, I'm drawing a new comic, etc. But he hadn't done any of that in three weeks, and rent wasn't cheap enough for him to be unproductive for a month. Being a judgmental asshole on the internet was how he paid his bills. He couldn't help it, though, and he really had tried his hardest. The first day, he was fine. Some days were just blank days, and he could let it slide, but by the end of the first week, he'd been playing wall ball in the bathtub. By the end of the third week, he was lying naked, in the dark, on his living room floor, alternating chain smoking between a pack of Marlboro Reds and his last joint and keeping his music loud enough to piss off his neighbors. Inspiration was just there one day and gone the next, like hair on a middle-aged man.

Getting glamorous mostly meant pulling a clean jacket over his red pajama top and slapping on some shades. The last time he'd shaved was...he didn't know. There was some stubble there when he reached up to rub his thumb across his chin, but fuck the world; he was still one choice looking dude. When he went to the living room to slide his sneakers on, he had to hold himself back from messaging Lalonde something hateful. She'd pulled down the blanket he'd draped over the window, and now he could see how badly the whole room needed some cleaning. Little pieces of things he couldn't identify were stuck all over the carpet, the TV stand had a thick layer of dust on it, and there was a pair of (ironic) kitten patterned boxers flattened on the coffee table with his pipe and a dime bag settled on top. Now, he had to worry about cleaning this up when he got back and hoping his Bro didn't drop by while he was out. For whatever reason (and he suspected it had something to do with Rose telling him), Dirk seemed to know exactly when he was out and would drop by to leave things in his house to torment him later, like a medicine cabinet full of porn puppets or replacing all the food in his refrigerator with fireworks that exploded when he opened the door. He'd had to make an especially venomous anti-brother v-log that day with a burn mark under his eye.

She was right about one thing, though: Getting high and lounging around being frustrated with life wasn't really great for his physique. Normal people would promise themselves to hit the gym, but he knew better. He'd do a couple of push-ups and be self satisfied enough to continue on like he always did. Grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone from the plastic table by the door, he pulled it open and braced himself against the brightness. Even his sunglasses couldn't save him. It had been too long since he'd been outside. Fucking California, it was like living on the sun. Before he'd even made it to the bottom of the stairs, his phone jingled with his messenger alert, and he fished it back out of his pocket. He separated his friends from everyone else by making them to use pesterchum to contact him. Because his number leaked out so often, it was a pain in the ass to keep giving out a new phone number every month, so he used messenger rather than texts.

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:47 --

TT: When I said lunch, I meant healthy lunch, not a grease-laden quesadilla from Taco Cabana.  


TT: Just so we're clear.

 

He didn't respond, just turned it off and shoved it back in his pants, deciding to ride the trolley until he was in the part of town where he was most likely to find a tiny, overpriced, hipster hole-in-the-wall where he could get something to eat that he hated enough to make her happy. She was worse than their mother when it came to making sure he took care of himself, even if he knew they were working together. She asked Rose to bother him, but even if she didn't, he'd get bothered because it was her lot in life. Living in Leztopia with her blank hippie girlfriend, braiding each other's hair, and listening to their random, foreign, operatic tribal music wasn't enough to keep her occupied, nope. She had to be in his business 24/7, too.

Being out wasn't as bad as he'd hyped himself up to expect. The trolley ride was pretty decent, just the comfortable rumble of the motor, the chatter of people around him, and the warm sun on his face through the windows as he watched the buildings go past. No one gave him a second glance, and when he got off about twenty minutes later, it was much the same. When he threw his hood up, fewer people recognized him, and no one hassled him. Being 'internet famous' wasn't like being actually famous. There were no paparazzi or anything. No one really cared about a twenty-something kid who sat around in his underwear making youtube videos and drudging up music reviews for cash, but he could pick out the people who subscribed to his videos by who would watch him and seem like they weren't trying to. Sometimes, he'd be approached by a hopeful or a fan, and he'd talk to them for a while without trying to seem like it was a big deal. Secretly, he loved it. Who doesn't love being showered with attention and compliments? ' _Oh, I love your videos,'_ or, _'You're really funny,'_ and, _'My friend and I always watch your videos together. She thinks you're cute, but I do too. I mean, you are really cute.'_ He ate it up.

No one bothered him then as he strolled along, making his way through the people. Because of how long it'd been since his last update to anything, he guessed he looked a little different, less kept than he usually was. It was admittedly nice. Being gushed over was cool and everything, but sometimes he wanted to chill out and have some lunch without having to stop and give his attention to anyone. Deciding where he wanted to go was easy enough. As expected, there was a glass-faced little place across the road from him with the word 'natural' stenciled in flowy green script under an appealing doodle of a leaf on the front door. It was tucked in between an independent clothing store and a record shop, and there was a carefully positioned chalkboard menu with round letters written in different colors standing out front. It had quaint little tables on a fenced-in patio with families poring over frilly menus and everything. Perfect. He'd snap a picture of a salad, zap it to Lalonde, and get her off his back for a day or so. Maybe he could make rap about salad but make it a sexual thing, like, tossing salads, he wondered, and then abruptly hated himself because _no_.

Checking the oncoming traffic before he crossed the street, he beat the thought to death with a hot tire iron and jogged up to the glass door, pulling it back to the sound of an electronic chime and tugging his hood off his head. The air conditioner was going nice and strong, and the place smelled terrific in the misleading, airy way of vegan confectionery. Taking the opportunity, he took a picture with his phone and sent it to Rose, feeling awkward, a little too rough around the edges and noticeable to be casually hanging out somewhere that obviously put a lot of effort into being cute. Screw it, he was already there. The counter to his right was manned by a sweet-faced girl with glasses and long black hair tied into a ponytail, and he regretted not shaving before leaving the house. Approaching, he thought that if Harry Potter had been a cute chick, he'd have looked like her. Pleasantly, there was no one else in line, and everyone in the place seemed to already have their food. He wouldn't have to wait long to eat.

"Welcome! Can I take your order?" She smiled at him, hand poised over the cash register, and he scanned the menu behind her head with something like a cross between 'could give less of a shit' and 'this crap is really expensive.'

"Can you recommend anything that doesn't taste like the chalk you used to write the menu with?" he asked. "I'll take whatever, really." She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, everything here is really good. All of our baked goods are gluten free and made with all natural-"

"Oh, man, that's really something. But, seriously, it doesn't make a difference to me. Just anything is fine. I'll leave it to your better judgment." She shrugged then, seeming a little put off at being interrupted, and handed him a number plaque from a stack on the bar behind her. He dug his credit card out of his wallet, preparing to enter his pin as she punched numbers into the machine.

"Your total is thirty-four dollars and seventy-nine cents." He slid the card through the reader to the side of the register, entered the code, and held out his hand to take his receipt and number card from her. "We'll bring your order to you."

"Thanks," he said, deciding to pick a table against a wall. Having his back to something made him feel a little better. The thought that he'd go home and make a video about the discrimination of health food establishments against grown men was shot to death with lots of big lead bullets, and he heard his phone go off in his pocket. Rose had received his picture.

 

TT: I see you're partaking of a nutritious and wholesome lunch as I asked.

TG: yeah its dope

TG: im eating some of that namby pamby bullshit for herbivores you love so much

TG: i love this gunk its really delicious

TG: if i close my eyes its like im not eating dehydrated bricks of cat spunk

TG: im so glad i chose a 35 dollar plate of what will probably be moldy leaves instead of a burger

TG: a burger is what i definitely dont want right now

TT: Kanaya has offered to have you over for a barbeque if you're willing to come.

TT: We're having a get-together with some mutual friends.

TG: you guys barbequing is the most terrifying shit ive ever heard of

TG: even when we were kids you were into all this pretentious nature noise

TG: youve never even had a piece of meat in your mouth

TT: That's not entirely accurate. We all have our experimental college phases.

TG: im glad im not eating yet or i may have just blown chunks all over my 400 dollar iphone

TG: can you please contain your vulgar horror stories while im ranting from now on

TG: between you and bro scrambling my delicate shit all up its no wonder why i cant focus for five seconds to do some work

TT: I will henceforth make my most honest effort.

TT: Enjoy your meal.

TT: Also, speaking of Dirk, he is currently in your apartment.

 

Unsurprised, he closed the chat window and started dicking around on the internet to pass time until his food came, reading old comments on the last update to his comic: Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff. His various youtube, review critic, musician, and comic artist accounts were kept separate always. It was a fail-safe in the case that one started to become unpopular. That way, one venture wouldn't affect the success of another, but they all seemed to do pretty well so far. There were a few new comments since the last time he'd checked, mostly people bitching about not having a new page in forever. He turned it off, distractedly twirling the bottle of ketchup in the middle of the table while floundering for ideas that didn't suck. There was a squeak ten minutes later as the door behind the counter opened, and he looked up to see a guy holding the door open with his foot as he hopped out on one foot with a tray of plates. "Jade, a little help, here," he said. Jade hopped off her stool and held the door open for him, laughing as he finagled around to get the tray seated comfortably in his arms again, and Dave felt his mouth part open a little. People who didn't know him probably wouldn't have seen the change. He looked only a little less impassive, but he felt like he'd been hit over the head with a hammer. The air didn't rush out of the room, but he felt like it was all making a fast-moving tunnel around him, going too fast to breathe in, and he watched the guy, who looked flustered and a little frazzled as he exchanged banter with the girl. She pushed him in his shoulder, earning a laugh, and it was probably the most disagreeable feeling he'd ever had. Very pointedly uncool.

_"Fuck me gently, Captain Crunch,"_ he thought, watching the guy smile at her with this kind of bucktoothed, glasses wearing, wild haired charm that blindsided him, and felt his heart flutter as he rounded the counter and headed toward him with the tray. Maybe it was because of how unexpected it was to see someone who didn't fit the standard, surgically perfect mold of every other bleached, plucked, and muscle-bound Summer Babe who stalked down the street, maybe it was because it came out of nowhere, but whatever it was electrocuted all the jumbled crap he'd been mulling over and left his brain shorted and sparking, trying with great difficulty to start again. Dave slowly put the ketchup back in the center of the table and fixed his face, grabbing his phone and putting it in his lap. The guy stopped at the edge of the table and, with that same wide smile, started setting down plates.

"Hey, I'm John. I'm your waiter, obviously, hah, if you need anything else just tell me, alright?" Dave nodded, looking at the plate of goopy orange shit and what looked like a wheat tortilla wrapped around about a pound of spinach, the plate of colorless bricks that he guessed were cookies, and the bottle of green kombucha beside the two and managed an impassive thanks. John nodded, and Dave noticed his eyes were the kind of blue that he hated because they were so pretty, even if he could barely seem them behind the thick-rimmed glasses he wore. Now, he was definitely regretting not shaving or changing or doing something to make himself look remotely attractive, and made a mental note to check the date and time before he left, planning to come back later when he looked more presentable. "Alright, then. Enjoy," John said. He grabbed the number plaque from the table and sauntered off back to the kitchen, Dave watching his ass waggle all the way back. When he felt eyes on him, he looked up to see that Jade was watching him now, and he realized she was waiting for him to eat something. Suddenly in the mood to please, he unrolled a spoon from the napkin beside the plate, and took a hesitant spoonful of the slop, pleased to discover it was made of sweet potatoes. He gave her an expressionless thumbs up, and she smiled at him, looking out the window again. Using his phone, he set an alarm to get him out of bed at least two hours before five o'clock on Wednesdays. John had work at least then, he reasoned, since it was currently five o'clock on a Wednesday. But he felt like a huge, stupid, stalkery penis, and he fucking hated kombucha.

He left a substantial tip, and John came back to the table twice in the hour that he lingered around the place, but they didn't have any real interaction. Whenever Dave tried to be cool, he found himself defaulting to 'Stoic Asshole,' and didn't think he made a good impression if he even made one. It was more than a little discouraging.

That night, after dodging the cascade of puppets that tumbled out of his closet, cleaning his living room, and doing some laundry, he made a ten minute video about the value of natural beauty, how whack the Hollywood hypebeast was, and how useless he found kombucha, feeling equally pleased at the return of inspiration and lame because of how it'd come to him. There was a futile point in the evening where he tried to convince himself that he wouldn't go back. Because why should he? Random hot guys were everywhere, right? They grew on coconut-covered, glitter-painted palm trees in Cali, but ultimately he decided that the answer was a negative, nope, no, not like that. Not guys who could suck the air out of a room by just making an entrance, even a kind of crappy, endearing, awkward entrance bouncing on one foot. He nervously sucked down no less than ten cigarettes in a two-hour span.

Before he went to bed, he knew he was going to go back, and hadn't really resigned himself to it as much as he tried convincing himself he had. It wasn't an unwanted thing. He was eager to go back, if not for the food, and was already thinking of excuses because he needed one. There was no real justification in his mind of 'Yeah, ah, there's just this guy. He's not really hot, like how you'd imagine, but there's something magnetic about him anyway,' so he made up something and squeezed in under his comforter, sending Dirk a particularly rude message before he nodded off.


	2. Pulling Strings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to poppulchritude, who did [this adorable piece](http://poppulchritude.tumblr.com/post/22830450985/that-night-after-dodging-the-cascade-of-puppets) for dave's video log at the end of last chapter. it's extremely accurate.

"...and further more sounds like someone shoved a ten dollar Casiotone up Dora the Explorer's ass," he screeched.

"Deep breath, Karkat. You're hedging on breaking the sound barrier here and I'm like a foot away," Dave said, moving a can off one ear to better hear him. "Besides, La Roux's awesome," he lied. La Roux was as detrimental to the health of the music industry as the Disney channel, but disagreeing with Karkat was probably his favorite thing to do when nothing else was going on. "You resemble her."

"Your mother, Strider."

"Totally KO'd."

"Ugh, shut the fuck up and finish whatever you're doing already. I thought we were going to lunch. You said we were going to lunch." He tossed around agitatedly on Dave's bed, mussing up his sheets and kicking his feet against the wall like a petulant child. "What are you even doing?" Scowling around at the room, he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on the back of a balled fist.

"Taking a test."

"A school test?"

"Yep."

"But can't you just Google the answers if you're on your home computer?"

"Why do you think it's taking so long?" He said, tabbing out of the test window and pasting a question into the search bar. "I'm carefully selecting the best results." The only classes he had that semester were online courses. Whenever the option was available, he tried to take his classes online both for a multitude of reasons. The most important one was that he didn't have to study if he was just one copy-paste away from an A+.

"How fucking pointless. Why would the professor even bother giving the test if you can just cheat? Why would you bother wasting the money to go to school to get a degree when you don't actually learn anything? Isn't your big plan just to leech off society until you die? I was almost positive that you were just going to live in your bedroom making dickish comments about everything until someone finally paid you to shut the fuck up long enough so that other people could catch up and come to terms with your retarded aloof bullshit about how much you love slurping up salty bulge sauce."

"Hold on, I'm about to start paying attention to all the stupid garbage you're saying. Give me just a sec here to-" He snapped the other headphone back over his ear and turned the volume up as loud as it would go, watching Karkat's mouth move at rage-fueled warp speed in the corner of his eye and finishing his test.

It had been a week since that first Wednesday, and this time he was prepared. The entire week had been spent forming a plan of attack. It had taken him three indecisive days to finally pin down what he would wear, struggling with his wardrobe to find something that made him look less like a particularly hungry Oliver Twist and at the same time was casual enough for the street. Two tailored suits had come in and out of their plastic protectors at the back of his closet, and he looked so good in them that he debated whether it would be ironically acceptable to wear one. If the world were full of people who shared his awesome sense of humor, he had no doubt everyone would find it appropriately hilarious and he'd receive many well earned brofists but, because his comedic genius was mostly unappreciated by his fellow man, he knew he'd just come off as an awkward loser. Eventually, he decided on an outfit much like the one he'd originally worn: just a normal set of clothes foregoing the pajama top.

He'd also spent the week working out exactly what his next appearance would be like, whether he'd make a show of himself or casually slide behind the counter and sidle up to John, asking for his number and his underwear before dimming the lights and waltzing him around between the tables of the cafe like in one of Karkat's unwatchable chick flicks, but these were delusions he wouldn't let himself entertain for more than the split second they occurred to him because of how embarrassing they were. He'd never be so brazen as to come out and say 'Hey, you take my breath away,' anyway; subtlety was his perfected art, and it was pretty obvious by the end of the singular hour he wasted fantasizing about impossible heroic acts of bullshit that he'd just make a friend tag along with him. Being out to lunch with friends was normal. If he showed up with someone else, it looked like he was cool and sociable, which was exactly what he was going for. It was simple until this part because he didn't have that many friends, at least none that he'd want for this mission. Rose had class, but she was his first choice, and Dirk was _no_. If he even slightly suspected what Dave was up to, he'd make it his solemnly sworn duty to fuck it all up in the most spectacular way possible by embarrassing him with horror stories from his childhood or making an ass of himself toting in a bag full of puppets with dicks and trying to pawn them off on people because he thought it was hilarious to jerk them around. In a way, Dave was Dirk's Karkat. It was his favorite thing in the world to piss Dave off whenever the opportunity arose.

The remaining options who weren't Karkat were even less appealing than Dirk. Kanaya wasn't uncool, she was just off-putting. Being in her presence without Rose there to mediate was like waiting in the principal's office after a fight on the playground - this permanently tense silence where he wasn't sure if he was being judged or pitied or if she was devising some plan to sign him up for community service with a gardening club. Gamzee he could take in small doses, only knew him through Karkat, which had shocked the hell out of him the first time he'd met him. With as little patience as Karkat had, that he called the vacant, creepy, clown guy who made bad raps and pies his best friend was really bizarre. Sitting next to Gamzee alternated between being slightly funny when he started philosophizing about the miracles of stupid shit like napkin dispensers and really unbearable when he zoned out entirely and started laughing at things he had done in the past. Other than those two, there was only Terezi, and while he was normally down for whatever with her, she'd catch on to what he was doing in a flash and fuck it up almost as efficiently as Dirk would. If he tried to be incognito, she'd make a scene to try and prove that her way of barging in with guns blazing was better and faster than his. Upstaging him, or matching him rather, was an annoying habit of hers.

So, Karkat was the last option. The scrawny, passive aggressive, Greek kid who he'd gotten a job with the website he reviewed music for (not because his taste in music was anything special, but because he was so creative when he was angry that it was hard to quit reading the articles he drew up when he went off on a tangent, and whenever he published a new rant, he generated a lot of site traffic, which was just good business sense.) with a mood that functioned at varying levels of pissed off. Karkat was okay, though. If he wasn't provoked, he could be cool in public. Expending energy on making noise just because he wanted to make noise wasn't his way, but the problem was that it didn't take much to provoke him. If he played his cards right, he could keep Karkat relatively calm for a couple of hours while he watched John do anything from bus tables to trip over his own feet.

And now his face was shaven smooth and soft as an oiled baby's ass, his hair was moussed the fuck up and looking magnificent, and he'd polished his shades to give them that dazzling glint which he had on good authority got all the panties soaking wet. The good authority was his carefully preened reflection in bathroom mirror. Not really. He was swimming in his own nervous perspiration, which was _stupid_. He was just going to get some lunch with a friend and look at some hot ass, but he felt like he was about to get on a stage in front of a huge crowd and do a live show with his bro. He'd never done that before, but he had dreams, and those dreams made him nervous.

Ten minutes passed in the blissful absence of Karkat's voice, when he saw his pesterchum blinking an alert from the bottom of his screen. He moused over and opened the new message.

 

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 17:29 --

CG: CAN WE STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU HALF ASSING YOUR EDUCATION IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MY HUNGER FOR FIVE MINUTES?

CG: BECAUSE IT'S NOT.

CG: I'VE BEEN HERE FOR AN HOUR, AND THAT IS WAY MORE TIME THAN SHOULD EVER BE SPENT LOUNGING ON THE REEKING UNCLEAN MATTRESS WHERE YOU NO DOUBT PLEASURE YOURSELF THINKING OF STRANGE MEN IN HEALTH MARTS.

CG: DO YOU EVEN WASH YOUR SHEETS OR DO YOU JUST COPIOUSLY FUMIGATE THEM WITH AXE BODY SPRAY TO COVER THE STENCH OF SWEAT AND SHAME?

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD I AM ONE PICOSECOND AWAY FROM TELLING GAMZEE WHERE TO MEET US.

CG: AND BY THE FUCKING WAY

CG: YOU ARE THE LOWEST ORDER OF VIRAL CRUST WHICH HANGS FROM THE TIPS OF BILIOUS SEA DICKS FOR TELLING HIM HE COULDN'T COME.

CG: YOU'RE PAYING FOR WHATEVER I GET.

CG: INCLUDING HIS TAKEAWAY.

CG: GET OFF THE GODDAMN COMPUTER NOW YOU DISCOURTEOUS PIECE OF SHIT.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

 

He pasted in the final answer and sent the test away, pulling the headphones off and setting them down on the desk before he glanced over to see that Karkat was practically vibrating with anxious irritation, knuckles white around the phone in his hand. He was grateful Karkat had messaged him because he'd almost forgotten the time. "We're going now. Feel free to nag me the whole way there about what _The Notebook_ taught you to do in my situation," he said, only half kidding because talking about romance seemed to allay whatever innate rage Karkat carried around with him all the time, and it was easy enough to tune out. He was already pushing himself off the bed and out the door before Dave had left his computer chair to follow him to the parking lot.

Karkat had a car. Well, Gamzee had a car, and he let Karkat use it when he asked, so they didn't have to wait for public transport or force themselves to choose which person's body odor was more appealing to sit beside because there were no empty seats. The inside of Gamzee's car was nice smelling and comfortable, anyway, and he wasn't forced to listen to whatever might be playing on a public radio because the floor was covered in burned CDs, so he was grateful. Being in the vehicle made him feel awkward knowing he hadn't wanted him to come. "We can bring him next time. I'm not taking any chances the first time I do this, though," he cut Karkat off in the middle of his verbal advice column as he slid into the driver's seat and raised an eyebrow.

"You said you were already there once."

"Yeah, but this second impression is an important first. It's the first time he'll see me in all my perfected swagger." Karkat rolled his eyes so hard his head tipped backward, and shook his hair out before he started the car. Because he'd taken the bus the first time, he didn't have a clear idea of how to get there, so they resorted to using the cheapjack directions his phone's map application read out to him. They turned out to be useless directions because work was being done on the road it'd advised them to use, and by the time they actually reached the cafe and parked in a space across the street, they'd had to turn around three times. The sweat he had to keep wiping from the screen and the way he'd suddenly taken to mumbling whatever he said, making Karkat miss a couple of turn offs, probably didn't help, and Karkat was running on combustible fumes when he kicked the car door shut and slid over the hood to meet Dave.

"'Nature's Bakery: Natural Wholefoods Cafe.' I'm glad this guy works at a place where I can finally eat something decent instead of the disgusting places you normally drag me," he said, but Dave was ignoring him by then. His heart was doing stupid insufferable crap in his chest, and his palms were damp, and he hoped he didn't look as jittery as he felt. Just because his face was calm didn't mean people were blind. If he started to sweat a ring down the back of his shirt, it would be pretty obvious that he was having some clinical issues. He didn't notice how far ahead of Karkat he was until he heard feet slapping against the ground and turned to see him running up from the middle of the street to meet him on the front patio with a rough glare. "What the hell's wrong with you? Why are you acting like such a freak all of a sudden?" he panted.

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure I'm turning retarded," he said, holding the door open for Karkat. "You can help by not ever talking about it again. Let's go." Karkat grumbled but scooted inside, and Dave followed after him. The whole room was lit with soft pinks and reds dancing on the tables and walls as they pressed against the backs of the windows. The sun was setting behind them, warm light coming in through the glass storefront, and the people all looked like dolls, like dreams. Dave took a series of deep breaths, feeling like he was back in high school switching around in his seat and trying not to make any sudden movements because the girl with the ponytail and the sticker-covered backpack had sat down in front of him, and he was afraid he might knock everything off his desk with his shaky hands if she were to turn around and say hello. Once, she had, and then she'd borrowed a pen from him. He hadn't knocked everything off his desk, but he hadn't spoken to her again after he gave it to her, either, and she never returned it, but it was okay because sometimes he'd see her using it again, and it was still like they were connected. Like, if he'd wanted to, there was always an open door, a way of being able to start talking, to say anything at all if he could just gather himself up and ask about his pen. But whenever he tried to make it keep going beyond that in his head, it ended in them never speaking again. He just saw himself wasting the opportunity and couldn't figure out how to make it last. He never managed to say anything to that girl, always afraid of wasting that one perfect chance he'd been saving. The pen probably ran out of ink long before he thought it had, and it wouldn't have been any good to ask about anyway, but it had been something to keep him hoping, and it was because of that he could see where this new thing was going.

Nowhere.

He'd get stuck in his ways, fawning in private over some stranger whose last name he'd never know because he'd quit working there in two months. Never to be seen again, he'd be just one more pretty face disappearing into the rolling tide of all the people he'd ever so much as knocked shoulders with in the aisle of a grocery market.

Karkat was standing before the counter, finger curled around his chin, reading carefully over the blackboard, and Dave smoothed down the folded hem of his shirt as he approached from behind. The girl recognized him, and he responded to her polite wave with a nod of acknowledgment, listening to Karkat read off what he wanted in the fleecy haze of a pink dream.

The first time he saw John, after they had been seated at a table in the back corner for twenty minutes, he felt immediate relief. His sweating stopped, and he started just to look out for him whenever he would zip in and out of the kitchen. When he came rushing into the room, laughing a little too loudly at something Dave couldn't see or hear, sticking out his bottom lip to blow the hair it looked like he hadn't run a brush through in several days out of his eyes, or doing anything unbecoming, obviously uncaring if there were people around who would judge him, Dave's heart picked up and did double time. John had a spare string hanging from the back of his jean pocket that he almost reached out and grabbed once when he was walking by, but couldn't do more than make himself think about it. How he could use it as a way to start a conversation, if he waited until the moment was right, figured out how to make it work. Stupid. Karkat had, after fifteen minutes, started watching him like he was an alien parasite under a microscope, not sure what was going on because Dave never acted the way he was, but it was fine with Dave because at least Karkat was being calm.

Instead of John, though, their waitress was a rough-spun girl named Vriska who recognized him from his videos but obviously disapproved of him for it and made pointed jabs whenever she came back to check on them. Karkat thought it was hilarious and tipped her every time she opened her mouth to let flow some indulgent pseudo-clever crap, but Dave could have given half a shit. Her impeccably bad timing was what he was focused on. Maybe it was purely coincidental, maybe she was just psychically in tune with how best to piss him off, but if he happened to catch a quick peek of John when he would come out to converse with Jade at the counter, Vriska's shapely ass would appear in his face, blocking his view, and then she'd start talking in her overwhelming, husky voice and he wouldn't be able to hear whatever John was saying. Just about the time he'd duck back into the kitchen, Vriska would get the idea to finally fuck off, leaving him looking at nothing but open air and tables, and it happened every time without fail. Between Vriska's punctual appearances, Karkat using his Serious Voice to psychoanalyze him about what his deeper romantic inclinations meant or revealed or how they affected the turn of the universe, and Rose blowing up his phone with vague messages about cats, he barely got to see or hear John at all. Just those scant sightings of him and the string hanging off his pants. And after over two hours of philosophizing, with the world outside made of blue sky and black sky and orange lamplight, Karkat finally got bored and meandered off to collect the doggy bag of Gamzee's food he'd asked to be held at the front. They were the last two people in the place, he noticed as he looked around, and he jerked his phone out of his pocket to answer Rose, figuring he might as well. The whole point in coming had been defeated, and he probably wasn't going to see John again anyway, so focusing on his phone for a minute wasn't going to affect anything.

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:07 --

TT: We are having some trouble with the cat.

TT: As it happens, Kanaya has some previously undiagnosed allergies, and we won't be able to care for it.

TT: So, sympathetic as I may be toward your particular distaste of our mother's pet, the burden now falls to you.

TT: One moment.

\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] is _now_ an _idle_ chum! --

 

TT: My apologies. The cat managed to escape from its carrier, and I was forced to recapture it on my own.

TT: I will bring it and its accessories to your apartment tonight.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 21:35 --

TG: what the hell are you talking about lalonde

TT: Ah, there you are.

TG: yes here i am as per fucking usual

TG: what the hell are you talking about

TG: and can you make it snappy and not full of difficult shit to read

TT: You're in a good mood.

TG: bouncing off the walls

TG: lets focus on the cat thing

TT: As I said, Kanaya has cat allergies, and we can't have it in the house.

TG: what cat

TT: Mother's cat.

TG: i thought dirk was keeping it for her while she was at her science thing

TT: Yes, he offered to keep it, but it appears as if he's been called to open for an act in Hawaii on short notice.

TG: hah thats bullshit

TG: you know as well as i do that he went there to get some of that sweet island dudes grass skirt wearing buttock

TT: That certainly seems to be the case. In any event, we were sidled with the chore of taking care of it.

TT: For medical reasons, this is now impossible.

TG: man ok so what i have to do it now

TT: Yes. I secured it in your bathroom, so be cautious when you open the door.

TG: oh fuck no why me

TT: Take it up with Dirk.

 

He turned it off and stood, thinking that in a perfect world the island guy would give Dirk an itchy venereal disease. It wasn't really Dirk's fault so much as it was his mother's, but he blamed them equally. Stepping up behind Karkat as he conversed with the Jade girl, he flicked him in the ear, earning himself a curse. "What the hell do you want, rude ass?" he snapped. Dave motioned to the window with his head.

"My place has been compromised. I need to crash with you tonight."

"What the fuck? No way. What do you mean "compromised?" I was just over there. Are you telling me I have to buy lice shampoo now or something?"

"Chill out. You're no dirtier than you normally are. This is a new development, happened while you were wiping crouton crumbs out of your eyebrows."

"You can't. Tavros is over."

"Oh, Jesus. Look, I won't say anything if he starts rapping this time," he pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the experience.

Karkat snarled. "HE STARTED CRYING AFTER YOU LEFT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE."

"That's totally on you for not preparing me ahead of time for the Lord of All White Rapper Tool Dipshits. I walked into that situation with my defenses down; He's just lucky to have made it out alive."

"YOU RAP, TOO, YOU FUCKING - Oh, God. Oh, God, we're not doing this here. You can't come over. That's it."

"Cool, so we can just swing by my place and let me pick up some clothes, and I'll be all set."

"NO, DOUCHESPRIT, YOU CAN'T COME. LISTEN TO ME." His face was turning red, and he was probably ruining whatever was in the white plastic bag he was crushing in his fist.

Dave pulled up his hood and turned to the girl, who was staring at them like she wasn't sure how to react. "Is the kitchen closed?" he asked. Karkat stopped yelling and stormed out the door, and Jade nodded apologetically.

"Yes, we close in a few minutes."

"Isn't ten kind of early for a restaurant to close?"

She smiled and shrugged. "No, this is more of a family place. Families don't come around later than this, usually." Dave nodded.

"Alright, well, one more thing. Have you guys got wifi here?" he asked, already working out how he'd show up the next time. She nodded.

"Yes, there are a couple of open networks in the neighborhood." The kitchen door swung open again while she was speaking, and Dave's eyes instantly flicked over. John came out untying the short black apron from around his hips, and Dave watched his fingers twist on the knot at the small of his back. As he pulled the draw strings out, it seemed he finally discovered the string stuck on the back of his pants, knuckles brushing it softly aside. He stopped and craned his neck around, asking Vriska, behind him, to pull it off. Her hands came up and she wrapped the string around two long fingers, jerking it off with a quiet snap. Dave didn't know if he hated her more for wasting the time he'd spent there by ruining every chance he had of seeing John or because she got to touch his superior ass, but he was definitely feeling some unfair animosity toward her. "So, you can bring a laptop in if you come back and feel like using the internet," Jade said. The two came out to join Jade behind the counter, and she hopped down from her stool. Vriska leaned across the top of the counter to get in his face, palms flat and elbows wide, and John hopped up to sit by the register, watching them.

" _Mister_ Celebrity. Enjoy your meal?" she asked. Her fingernails clicked out a musical rhythm against the peach lacquer. She was so close he could smell the fruity tang of her breath and see that the back of her tongue was blue when she opened her mouth to speak, like she'd had a sucker.

"I was just making a complaint with management, actually." He was looking at Vriska, but was so distracted by John's eyes on him that he didn't feel like he could be as artistically catty as he normally was.

"Wow, celebrity? Are you famous?" John asked him. Dave watched his legs swing back and forth, and felt like his stomach had just hatched an entire insectarium of butterflies when he realized that he had his full attention, had been spoken to directly and not in a 'May I take your order?' way. John, with a big orange stain on the top of his pants leg, had asked him something because he was interested. He was, for just a moment in time, giving his undivided attention to Dave, and it was excruciating. A car horn honked loudly outside, and for probably the first and last time in his life he was grateful for Karkat's short tempered impatience because it spared him having to answer.

"That's my cue. Thanks for dinner," he said, and left, wondering if Vriska would tell John all about how he was 'famous,' if they would talk about him later that night, if Vriska was his girlfriend. That one weighed on his mind like a sack of sand. They didn't act like they were together, but how the hell could he know? She'd had her hands on his ass, and that was a pretty familiar way of touching someone. It filled him with embarrassed dread. Was he scoping out a straight guy with a girlfriend? Even if he wasn't, if he ever worked up the nerve to say something, how would he impress John? The only reason most of the people who were interested in him were interested in him was because of his videos or his music. If they actually knew him in person, they'd see that he wasn't anything very special, and he had no idea how he could make John think he was cool if John didn't know about any of that. Worse still if, like Vriska, he thought Dave was stupid for it, every chance he had was blown. It almost made him want to turn back and offer some kind of preemptive apology for not being as cool as he liked to pretend he was, but there was no way in an iced over hell he'd ever do that. So, he settled for slamming the car door a little harder than he needed to.

"I talked to Gamzee."

"Congratulations."

"It accidentally slipped out that you wanted to stay, and he said he was cool with you coming."

"Gamzee's cool with something. I guess that means the world's ending."

"Shut up because this next part is important." He started the car. "He _insisted_ that you come because he's a _nice person_ , so if you make Tavros cry again, I'm going to club you to death with one of his juggling pins."

"Okay, wow, it's not like I meant to make him cry. How was I supposed to know he'd react like that?"

"That's why you don't go around just assuming everyone is an unfeeling, puss-filled gash on the ass of humanity like you are."

"Aren't you supposed to hate him?"

"What? No. I don't hate him, but when he gets depressed he doesn't come over, and if he doesn't come over Gamzee gets in one of his moods, and I have to deal with it, and it's just a big pain in the ass that we can easily avoid if you'll resign yourself to not being a self absorbed dick for a few hours and think of someone else. The kid's handicapped for fuck's sake. Make some room in your tiny black heart for his wheelchair and be a decent fucking human being."

"Just stop somewhere on the way. I'll get him something to eat. It'll be fine. Stop freaking out."

" _Me_ freaking out? _Me_? You're like the official scientific fucking case study on freaking out. What was all that today?"

"Dinner." He reached down and grabbed the gear shift, jerking the car out of park so that Karkat would have to concentrate on driving rather than asking him questions. His stomach still flip-flopped when he thought of John sitting up on the counter, looking ruffled and tired and paying attention to him anyway. They shared a comfortable silence on the way back to his apartment, and he allowed Karkat to control the music without any complaints. It wasn't bad. It wasn't good, but he was okay with it until they rolled up in the parking lot of his apartment complex. Karkat opted for waiting in the car while Dave ran up to grab a bag of essentials, so he took his time because he knew it'd get under his skin. It stopped him for a moment, on the bottom step of the staircase to his floor, when he thought that Dirk may have intentionally planned to leave for Hawaii at the same time their mother had her convention so that he would be forced to take care of the fucking cat. He probably knew Kanaya had cat allergies or something and had worked it all out just to piss him off because _Dave was his Karkat_. His hand tightened around the railing, and he grit his teeth in anger. That was probably exactly what had gone down.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he wasn't sure which, when he opened the front door, the cat jumped past him and leaped from the stair banister to the roof and ran off into the night. That it'd gotten out of the bathroom didn't surprise him; the damn thing had a knack for being exactly where it wasn't wanted and not staying where it was put. Later, he'd worry about telling his mom because there was no way for him to catch it. He collected his toothbrush and a fresh pair of clothes anyway, still wanting to spend the night with Karkat and buy Tavros an apology meal. It did make him feel a little like a monster to know he'd made a kid with no legs cry, and he was hoping to correct that, if only a little. He cried anyway when Dave apologized that night and presented him with a filled-to-bursting bag of Taco Bell. He gave Dave an awkward, spine crushing hug that he couldn't work his way out of because Tavros had the upper body strength of the Incredible Hulk, and then Gamzee came in from the bedroom with a pair of extra controllers and announced it was time for "some motherfucking games." No one rapped, Gamzee made pie (which was normal, but always fucking bizarre), and it was a pretty decent night that definitely didn't end with Dave scrolling futilely through twenty pages of John Somebodies who lived in the greater Frisco area on different social sites in the vain hope of stumbling upon him.

When Gamzee left him back at his apartment the next morning, too early in the day to be considered anything less than cruel and unusual punishment, he found that the cat was back. It was a weird feeling to see it just lounging on the black banister, and when it heard him coming it watched him until he'd opened the door and then strolled inside like it owned the place, which wasn't too hard because, while it was there, it did. Dave counted himself lucky that his house didn't smell like stale cat piss, and found himself so pleased by it that he almost set out some milk, but the only carton in his fridge had expired a week before. He tried going to the store to buy some, but when he went out, he for some reason found himself on a bus traveling toward the stupid cafe with the magnetic, goofy guy with the navy blue eyes, and the bad-good-gorgeous toothy smile, and the butterfly questions, and only just managed to insult himself enough to keep from actually going in, standing across the street staring past the glass facade for no less than ten minutes. He smoked the whole time and finally decided to go into the record shop next door. It was nice and smelled like dust and canned air freshener, and the music they played was good enough for him to decide both to buy something and come back later. The bus ride back to his house was drawn out, and he hoped no one had seen him standing out front of the shop like an idiot, not John or Jade and certainly not Vriska.

The tiny bottle of convenience store milk he picked up turned out to be a smart investment because the cat had still not pissed in his house, and he found himself actually okay with it being there. It had always pissed on his stuff and scratched up his furniture when he'd lived at home with his mom, so the good behavior was a pleasant surprise. Instead of going out again to buy it cat food (because he'd forgotten, and Rose hadn't brought any), he split a ham sandwich with it and started a remix using a sample from the record he'd bought. He called it 'Come Back Cat," and the neighbors banged on the walls.


	3. Mocha Frappa Whateva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea what the add function in pesterchum looks like, so I winged the hell out of it. Also, I really fucking hate the way Jake speaks.

Two months passed in which time did not fly. Two months passed in which time did not do anything. It sat down in the middle of a busy highway and threw a temper tantrum, making the cars swerve around it while it squirmed and screamed and refused to budge. Minutes seemed sometimes to go in reverse. His eyes played tricks on him, made him see time pass on the clock face, and when he looked up the numbers had reset and it was stuck in place for hours.

Between work and school, being with friends when he didn't think he could take being alone with his thoughts for another moment, seeing family when he couldn't put it off anymore, Wednesdays had become the best part of his week, which was horrible because Wednesdays were the most inconsequential of all days. Even Monday was more important than Wednesday, and he was of the opinion that Mondays could be cut off the calendar and everyone would benefit, maybe even possibly world hunger would end. Who knew? What mattered was that the incredible dope John Fucking Q. had gotten under his skin like a tattoo, and he could not get him out no matter how hard he scratched the site of infection, although if he was telling the truth he hadn't scratched very hard at all. He hadn't even asked for his last name yet.

'Yet,' he told himself constantly. He was just _planning_.

His videos had slowly progressed from being casually influenced by John and his coworkers to being dominated by them entirely. None of them were ever directly mentioned, but his videos acted more as a diary than anything else, and the topics he would cover, the day-to-day things, were just a chronicling of his life, his feelings. Even his viewers were beginning to get suspicious, continually prodding him about whether or not there was someone special, someone new in his life. He was more animated now, they said. He was more intense now, they said. He was not focused at all and he needed to be because it was obviously draining him, they forgot to mention. But he was all too aware of that particular development.

It wasn't the same inability to concentrate that it had been months before that, though, the kind where he was stagnating, floundering for inspiration. No, it was the kind of haywire twitchiness which came from being too involved in something, overstimulated. At every turn, he was inspired, distracted rather, or a plagued by an onslaught of new ideas that would start rolling in at the most inopportune of times. Music would start playing in his head in the middle of a sentence, and he'd cut his conversation short and pull out his phone or a pen, writing out chords, lyrics, anything. Sleep had become a dreaded thing because his mind _would not turn off_. His head hit the pillow, and all the lights would come on at once. Everything happened instantaneously, and he was tired but too restless to sleep, and ultimately he'd wind up getting in and out of bed all night, writing, smoking, exercising (which was usually harder than it should have been because of the smoking), or flipping through infomercials on the piece of shit TV that he mostly kept for show or the occasional DVD rental.

Sometimes, he'd open the window and lean on the ledge staring out at nothing, listening to couples talk quietly when they passed, sharing secrets that were probably not that secret but felt like they were when a stranger overheard them being said so hushed, or kids who thought they were big and important, running around drawing attention to themselves late at night, laughing, fading, pulling his thoughts along after them. Then, the fog would roll in cold and wet, because winter started in the sea and it could never hold its breath long enough to keep from giving itself away, and it would cling to the bricks of the building looking for a way in, and just before he had risen to shut the window, the cat would drop down from wherever it'd been lurking and jump inside. He'd pull on a jacket, and it would keep in less body heat than it kept in worries that kept closer to him than the white mist on the windows.

Not worries, really, just things that wouldn't leave him alone. He'd asked for Rose's advice, and the first gem she'd given him was just to talk to John.

" _Speak with him not as a patron of his workplace but as a friend or an interested suitor,"_ she'd said because she missed the point entirely, as was usually the case. Working himself up to ask John out would not help him. If anything, it would convert the useful restlessness he was suffering from to one that would stifle him and have him sitting around smoking weed in his birthday suit until the food in the fridge started smelling like death was coming for him again. The second thing she'd proposed was to meditate, clear his mind, and relax, which was another pointless suggestion. Trying to relax was as futile as trying to dodge shrapnel by standing still and hoping that it would spread out and somehow manage to miss hitting anything, forgetting entirely that the biggest threat was the bomb and not the shrapnel it sent up. Letting himself be still was the bomb blast. The shrapnel was everything that came after, and whether it left him clutching a wounded limb or fostering some new spark of genius was an afterthought. The final thing she suggested, which earned her his most earnestly raised middle finger, was to get over himself because it was not that critical, and he was being dramatic.

And as he sat at the bar that wrapped around the outer edge of the cafe, ticking away mindlessly at the keys on his laptop, he wished he were more eloquent or poetic or something so that he could make it as clear as it needed to be that it _was_ that critical because even John had noticed. When he'd tote his gear into the cafe and plug his headphones in, intending to work on a song or drum up an article, he would get distracted just watching John in the reflection on the screen while he was busy falling in and out of the kitchen. Sometimes, when it was more deserted than usual, John would start humming to himself without realizing, and it was a struggle for Dave not to get up, plant himself directly in front of him, and honestly tell him how perfect and ridiculous he was. By the time he noticed his computer had fallen asleep while he was daydreaming, John would be leaning over his shoulder with a coy grin, swiping a free hand across the mousepad to bring it whirring back to life, and then before Dave could respond, he'd turn back and continue whatever he had been doing before he'd embarrassed the hell out of him. Maybe Vriska had shown him his videos. Maybe that was why he was acting so smug, because he knew that all the commotion was over him, but it was hard to decide because sometimes he seemed clued in, and other times he seemed as oblivious as ever. It made him crazy, and he cycled between thinking he was making the whole thing up, blowing insignificant gestures out of proportion, and thinking that maybe John was a secret intuitive genius because, just a little, he _wanted_ John to know that all the fuss was about him.

If he knew, then it would save Dave the trouble of having to come out and say, 'Look, you're worse than standing on the train tracks when you can hear the whistle blowing.' Or, Dave thought as he watched him accidentally drop a fistful of change all over the floor, he was just an asshole who enjoyed flustering people when they looked like their guard was down. John messing with him became normal, but sporadic, and Dave had accepted looking forward to it because it was just one more way to be at the center of John's attention for a moment.

Jade came out of the restroom with an exasperated huff when she saw the mess, and John grinned up at her sheepishly, still scrabbling for pennies and dimes as she apologized to the blonde girl who'd ordered a mocha-frappa-whateva. The girl just laughed and accepted her change and her receipt, moving away to a table. Jade gave John a nonplussed look, and he made his way back into the kitchen while trying to stifle his own laughter.

Dave minimized his mixing program and reached forward to grab his coffee for a sip. None of the mixed coffee drinks they served were any good, all made with soy milk or honey instead of sugar. It tasted like licking the bottom half of the tree that moss grew on, so he bought regular black coffee and drank it whenever he needed a moment to collect his thoughts or when John came into the room, just so that his shaking hands would have something to steady them, even after it turned cold and unpalatable. Especially on days like today, when John was wearing the faded blue hoodie that made it hard to breathe because it made looking into John's eyes feel like the minutes were going in reverse again. He raised the white lip of the coffee cup to his mouth and absently watched the images of people seated at the tables in the room behind him.

The chime over the door rang, and when he saw who walked in every muscle in his body seized, and he tried his hardest not to burst into a coughing fit around the mouthful of coffee he'd just inhaled. "Dirk, are you absolutely sure you wouldn't rather continue our quest from last night and find another of those themed diners we visited? That one was pretty awesome, and I'm eager to explore the rest of your charming city!" If his mood hadn't shifted from mild contentment to black rage so instantaneously, he may have found himself wondering what the hell kind of accent that was. Dirk's eyes scanned the room before he felt them snapped to his back, and he avoided turning around, but Dirk would know he was watching him in the computer screen anyway.

"We're good, English. Taking in the locales is an important part of the Frisco adventure, so slow down and let yourself enjoy it." Dirk slung a (not strictly) friendly arm around Jake's shoulders, and they crossed to the counter to make an order, but Jake seemed to take the lead and speak for both of them, which was apparently fine with Dirk, who was obviously hanging on his every word. He reached a gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet when Jade brought up their total, and payed in cash. Exact change. He always paid in exact change, stating the irony of toting around a pocket full of coins when he both hated change himself and knew that other people hated change. It was ridiculous to see a thirty year-old man with a katana slung over his back counting out pennies into a cashier's hand, and Dave wasn't sure he didn't do it also because he got his jollies by pissing other people off when they had to wait on him to finish.

There was a brief argument about who would pay even while the money was being counted into Jade's hand, and Dave was bristling with anger because there was no way in hell Dirk's appearance was a coincidence. He had forgotten that Dirk had brought Jake in from Hawaii to visit, and wished that his first sighting could have been one where he was less concerned about Dirk being up to his usual tricks.

'The Legend of Jake English' was a well known one in the Strider-Lalonde household because it was no average joe who could turn Dirk's head, and he had come back from his first trip to the islands _gushing._ It was hard for other people to appreciate this because he was so quiet about things; casual acquaintances wouldn't understand that he was gushing because he was such a hard book to read. Nothing really sent him off-kilter, but when he moved he moved heaven and earth all at once, and Dirk had been moving for quite some time thanks to Jake English's influence. That was where he was different from Dave. Dirk didn't have trouble expressing himself, he just usually didn't have anything to express, and his expressions were so perfectly subtle it was difficult to know to what extent things affected him. He always knew exactly what to do in every situation, so if he wanted Jake, it was just a matter of time before he had him. Dave, on the other hand, just hoped not to look as wound up as he felt and wished he could be as cool headed and methodical as Dirk about the things that did wind him up.

Now that he saw him in person, heard him chattering at his brother, it was more than a little weird to see how similar he was to John. He was taller, older, _browner_ , but overall they had the same sort of magnetic vitality. Watching him cut his attention from Jade to Dirk, talking so wildly with his hands that he nearly knocked over the tip jar without noticing, he realized what it was about them. Dave and Dirk, they acted like they were above it all, on another level, but John and Jake weren't acting. They weren't above it all; they were just off to the side, somewhere 'it all' was a negligible thing looking on hopelessly from the backseat, just trying to keep up with the standard that they set for existing alongside them. It was like they weren't breathing the same _air_ as everyone else. Jake's appeal to his brother was obvious as he watched them select a table not too far behind him, and when he saw Dirk take another glance at his back, he opened up his chat client.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 16:04 --

TG: you are seriously not doing this right now

TG: because that would suck such an incredible amount of unlubricated horse dicks that even you couldnt conceive of it

TG: whatever horrendous and ultimately unforgivable thing youre thinking about doing

TG: dont

TG: thats it thats all I have to say

TG: you dont even need to respond

TG: as a matter of fact dont respond

TG: just do me this solid and dont be exacting your usual fucked up master plans right now

TT: Are you going to be okay?

TG: i said dont respond

TT: You said a lot of things just then, none of which were worth the time it would take to whip out my 'Retard to English' translator and decode them.

TT: Next time, pretty it up a bit, throw some sparkles up there, shine a warm spotlight on it.

TT: Maybe I'll perk up and give you time of day.

TG: bro seriously what the hell are you doing here

TT: I'm getting coffee with a friend, obviously.

TG: thats a lie for so many reasons i cant even imagine why youd take the time to type it out

TG: the most obvious being that friends dont sport 10 inchers for each other

TG: i didnt even have to look up to know you were in the building

TG: it instantly reeked of hair gel and over sexualized gym rat looking to harsh someones boner by chopping it off with a shitty anime sword

TG: you dispense testosterone like youre on a timed release.

TG: that you pulled your dick out of homeboys ass long enough to keep me from getting mine into someone elses is a sad testament of your devotion to fucking with me

TT: Wow, you're bitter. It's sounding more and more appropriate that getting your dick into someone's ass is your first priority.

TT: What makes you think I even came here to look for the random mouth breather you're sweating in your vaguely worded internet videos?

TG: are you shitting me

TG: youre like the marquis de sade of scheming bullshit

TG: theres nothing you dont know and theres no way you could stop yourself from interfering in my business like you always do

TG: so dont even try that crap with me

TG: i have a good thing going here and if youre looking to add johns name to the almost literal memorial wall of names youve collected by legendarily cock blocking me

TG: it will become my one mission in life to make sure jake english hates you as much as i do before its all said and done

TT: Your low opinion of me is excruciating, and your anger is really misplaced.

TT: You're half right, though.

TT: I have a plan, but I needed confirmation first.

TG: confirmation of what

TT: By the way, it's not nearly as malevolent as you're assuming it to be.

TT: And don't flatter yourself. There was no long, drawn out process leading up to its conception.

TT: Check it out, our drinks are here, so I'm going to let you get back to making your sick beats.

TG: no do not condescend to me and avoid the subject

TG: what the fuck do you mean confirmation

John came backing out of the kitchen carrying two cups of coffee, making a beeline for Dirk's table, and Dirk glanced up at Dave, putting his phone down by his elbow. Dave was as uncomfortable as if he were sitting on a spike, and his fingers drummed nervously against the table top as he watched John pass one of the cups to Dirk with a smile, and as he took it, nodding placidly at John's introduction of himself as their waiter, he was boring holes into Dave's back with his eyes. The barest smile picked at the edge of his mouth as he took as sip of his coffee, and Dave knew Dirk could see right through him, how incredibly he tensed up to see John hovering over the table, how much he _did not want this to be happening_. He realized with a start that he hadn't said anything about John until Dirk had brought it up and felt the contents of his stomach toss sickly because he'd just ousted himself. Jake struck up a cheerful conversation with John, and he watched Dirk tick something into his phone with one hand, sipping from his cup with the other, all the while watching his back. The sun cut behind his sunglasses just enough for Dave to see his tawny eyes twinkling with evil mirth, and he heard every hope, every stupid day dream he'd had of him somehow whisking John off his dirty sneakered feet, being ground up in a roaring blender somewhere on the other side of the kitchen door.

 

TT: Have a guess.

TG: oh my god no

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

TG: im actually begging you not to do whatever youre doing

TG: bro

TG: god fucking damn it i detest you

Dirk turned off his phone and put it face down on the table, and Dave only just resisted the urge to clear the distance between them and have a good old fashioned _brawl_ in the middle of the restaurant, cause some property damage. Knowing that it was probably all over, and he'd wasted two months of his life building himself up enough to sow some seeds just to have Dirk swoop in at the last minute and crop dust the whole operation, he closed the laptop screen and silently stood, not wanting to bear witness to the gory, unpleasant death of his efforts at Dirk's hands. After a last sip of coffee and a final glance back at John, one that made him regret waiting to talk to him because he was smiling that damn smile that made his heart feel like it was pulverizing his lungs, he resigned himself to leaving and tossed a tip onto the counter. Sliding his things into his backpack, he zipped it up and slipped his arm through the strap, throwing a mock salute to John when he called a goodbye after him. They'd gotten familiar in all the time he'd been coming. John and Jade would always welcome him and see him off. He guessed that was over, too, as he pushed open the glass door and stepped out onto the patio.

The day was bright and lovely, as always, and he felt a special hate for it as he paused a minute to fish around in a compartment on his bag for a cigarette. Now that he was outside, he could smoke, and he desperately needed one if for no other reason than to keep from going back inside and starting that brawl. Stepping down to the road, he didn't bother checking for traffic. They could go around him, or they could stop, hopefully while honking their horns really angrily. Either was good.

A voice called his name – his full name – from behind when he reached the other side of the street, and he hastily pulled his hood over his face in case any of his viewers were around. It was a long shot, but he wasn't in a mood to deal with them even on the off chance they were there. He turned back to see that it was Jake, and stopped walking. Good, perfect opportunity to air some of Dirk's dirty laundry. Only, it wasn't, because Dave wasn't a heartless bastard, and he knew how much Jake meant to him. Unlike Dirk, he wouldn't dream of stealing that away, no matter what he said. He waited where he was until Jake had sprinted across and was standing before him, and it was easy to see from up close how easily this guy could steal Dirk's heart when other people fought to get him just to spare them a glance, especially with those dark green eyes that he could see apologizing before he even opened his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Ah, David?”

“Just 'Dave,' dude,” he said.

"Oh, right. 'Dave,' sorry, I've been terribly rude, haven't I?" He looked sincerely ashamed about it, and Dave felt compelled, the same way he did when John looked upset or exhausted from dealing with bad customers, to set his worries to rest. It was creepy how alike they were. But, he continued on. "I'm Jake English." He extended his hand, and it was such an unbelievably surreal thing that Dave had no choice but to accept it and shake, earning himself a smile.

“Yeah, I know.” He pulled his hand back, sliding one into a pocket, and flicking the ashes of his cigarette with the other.

“Please, excuse Dirk.”

“No can do.”

“He means well, but he's got such a damn hard head that he forgets other people have their own free will. His confounded plans always mess up someone else's.”

“Preaching to the choir, English.”

He laughed nervously. “Yes, I suppose I am. The real reason I followed you out was just slightly more selfish. I was wondering if you'd like to exchange pesterchum handles with me. I really think we'd get along really well just from our mutual interest in your brother. I think it could be kind of rad, I don't know.”

“You're interested in him? Because I'm not.”

“Er, well...I meant that we have things in common. If you don't want to, it's fine. It just seemed like a gentlemanly thing to do, make friends with his family. He's being a shit and refuses to introduce me himself.”

Hearing Jake call Dirk a shit was so bizarre that he cracked a smile and shrugged. "Nah, you can have it. Just tell me, man, what the hell is your accent?" He was searching around in his pockets, mumbling that he was sure he ' _had a pen somewhere around_ , _'_ and Dave finally broke down and grabbed one from his bag, holding his hand out for Jake to jot his handle onto his palm as he answered.

"Oh! Well, when I was a boy, my parents and I moved from England to the islands, and I decided to work on keeping my accent intact. I gave my most vigorous effort, but eventually time and exposure took its toll, and the result is what you hear." He handed the pen back, but Dave held his hands up, shaking his head.

“I can see that. Anyway, keep the pen. I'll see you around.” Jake's hand reached out to grab his shoulder before he could move.

"David, ah, very sorry, _Dave_." He retracted his hand, and Dave crossed his arms, eager for the conversation to be over with so that he could go home and get stunningly baked before pirating a movie and curling up in bed with the cat to try and take a crack at forgetting that his family was full of megalomaniacs. Even though Dirk had been home for a couple of weeks, he'd gotten attached to the cat and hadn't wanted to give it back. "Did you ever consider that today might be the the day? Instead of letting Dirk do whatever he wants, like he's normally allowed to, you could be the one."

“What?”

“To make a mad dash for the finish line!” Dave still had no idea what was happening, and a look at his phone told him that it was getting late. He had a bus to catch.

“I'm about to make a mad dash for a suicide _help_ line if this doesn't end soon. Not to be rude, because you're obviously into shaking hands and finger bowls, etcetera, but my main goal at this time is the exact opposite of what I'm standing here doing.”

"Then, I'll cut to the chase. Sometimes, you've got to leap directly onto the horse's back and grab it by the mane. How else will it know you've got the adventurer's spirit to ride it at all?" Dave's eyes were wide, and his lips pursed into a thin line, patience expended for the day. "I'm talking about your crush."

"I can't decide what's more retarded: that you just made that metaphor, or that I just stood here and listened to it," he mumbled, trying to ignore that Jake had been spending so much time with Dirk that he had taken up using his jacked up horse tropes. Actually, Jake probably just used horse metaphors anyway because where normal people had the ability to differentiate between things that were said, and things that weren't even tolerably thought, Jake had a working relationship with Dirk.

“Sorry, I didn't hear you.”

"Nothing. I think leaping on his back and pulling his hair might get me a restraining order and not a date, but okay. For the sake of this conversation being finally over, let's say I'm going home to polish my saddle and spurs. Yee-haw." That time, he did break away, looking down to see 'golgothasTerror' scribbled on his hand and trying not to roll his eyes. "Oh, wait," he said, looking back at Jake, "did Dirk ever tell you his full name? Since he spends so much time talking about me and mine, figured I could return the favor." Jake looked confused.

“Dirk Strider?”

“His full name is Dirkland.”

Jake looked suspicious but amused. “You're lying.”

"Nope, it's on his birth certificate. Dirkland Strider," he said, "Ask our sister. She'll confirm." Rose would play along with his lie even without being asked. It'd just be a small payment on the massive favor she now owed him for telling Dirk where he'd been hanging out. He had only told her and Karkat about it, and Karkat didn't know Dirk, so it was pretty obvious who'd screwed him over. Jake looked eager to get back to Dirk with his new information, so they said goodbye and went their separate ways.

The bus ride home had been plenty of time for it to sink in that he really couldn't go back and see John anymore, and when he was safely inside his room he stripped and went straight to bed without bothering about the other stuff he'd planned to do. The cat coiled itself warmly around his neck, and he forgot about adding Jake. Even if he hadn't forgotten, he wouldn't have added him. Having to talk to him when he was so much like John would just be a slap in the face, so he fell into a guiltless sleep instead, not waking until it was dark outside. Now that it was over, he guessed, he could chill out and have a nap.

His eyes opened slowly, half focusing on the single spot of brilliance peeping into his room between the curtains and the wall until it made sense in his head and he could define it as a street light. For a moment, what woke him was unclear, and he just lay there in bed, feeling the cat breathe beside his ear. Then, he heard the telltale trill of his phone asking to be plugged in before it died, beeping from the corner of his room where he'd set his backpack down after getting in, and he struggled up. The cat was uncurled from his neck, and now he felt too hot, skin damp and uncomfortable under his blanket. Throwing it off, he stood from the mattress, swearing when he stepped on something sharp, and stumbled around in the dark until he was kneeling down next to the bag, fishing inside for his phone. His fingers wrapped around it, and he brought it out to use as a flashlight so that he wouldn't accidentally step on something else until he could turn on the light. He recoiled once he had, turning it back off as soon as it exploded into yellow life, too suddenly bright for his tender eyes.

In the sparse light from the window, he saw the cat stretch itself out shakily before it jumped down from the bed, landing with a thump on the floor and letting itself out of the room.

He tried the light again after a few minutes, and it wasn't as bad as it had been the first time, but then his stomach was growling at him unsurprisingly because there was always something else waiting in the queue to make him uncomfortable. The phone beeped in his palm, and he took it across the room to stick it on the charger and noticed the black ink smudge on his sweaty palm. Turning his head to better see it, he remembered what it was, and hoped it wasn't three in the morning or some other hideous time because Jake probably thought he was a rude asshole who'd dismissed him. It took ten minutes to fire up his computer, check to be sure that there was nothing but an almost-empty mustard bottle, batteries, and movie Sprops in the fridge, and let the cat out to do its nightly business before he decided he'd need to leave to get some food for himself. When he was seated at his computer chair again, opening pesterchum to add Jake before he went out, he was relieved to see that it was only eight which meant that he could go to an actual restaurant and not a twenty-four hour quick mart for a cup of top ramen.

Pesterchum finished signing him in, and before he could type Jake's username in the 'add chum' bar, a notice was flashing above his last open chat window. He groaned when he saw it was a new request and thought about deleting it before bothering to look because new chum requests were always just viewers or fans who happened to find him after an insane amount of stalking, but he stopped himself thinking that maybe Jake had just gotten hold of his contact info from Dirk. The first line he read after opening the attached message had him making a noise that was an awkward combination of a pathetic whimper and a gasp.

 

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] would like to add turntechGodhead [TG] to their chumroll! --

ectoBiologist says:  _hi, dave! this is john egbert. from the cafe? sorry if this is weird, but your, um, person gave me your handle so i figured it was all good. pester me, ok?_

\-- Would you like to add ectoBiologist [EB] to your chumroll? [Yes] [No] --

"Egbert," he whispered. His thoughts were a muddled, sleep-addled jumble of ' _Egbertegbertegberegbertegbert, wow that's a dumb fucking name, egbertegbertegbert._ ' Before he could click yes, a new message from Dirk blinked at him, and, remembering everything that had happened that afternoon, he knew then what Dirk had actually been doing and felt like a complete idiot.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:43 --

TT: How is it possible that you lived with me - for years - as the sole example of how a mature adult functions and yet you turned out to be such an ungrateful retard?

TG: why dont you wear a sign or something so that people can tell the difference between when youre being a chump and when youre being the coolest son of a bitch there ever was

TG: scratch that why didnt you just tell me so i didnt make such an ass of myself

TT: Because you had already hung the streamers for your pity party.

TT: I realize now that I should have let you drown in the punch bowl.

TT: Tell Jake that my name is not Dirkland, you little shit.

TT: I meant that as in now, in case you were wondering.

TT: That's all I've fucking heard since five o'clock this afternoon.

TT: It's not even ironically funny.

TG: bro

TT: Don't speak to me until you've remedied the situation.

TG: i love you

TT: Fix this.

He quickly added Jake, explained that he was an asshole and so was Rose and that he should never trust either of them again, and then closed the window and accepted John's friend request as fast as he could. It was a little disappointing to see that he was offline, but another look at the time showed him that it was too early for him to be off work yet. John had probably added him while he was on his break. So, he reopened his conversation with Dirk. 

TG: is that better

TT: He's offering to make breakfast as an apology.

TG: am i supposed to know if thats a good or bad thing

TT: All he knows how to do is grill. He tried to grill lasagna once.

TG: how do you even logically reason out some shit like that

TT: To his credit, he had the ingredients right, and it was in a pan, but he had it in there for hours.

TT: By the time I explained to him what he'd done, the 'lasagna' was already a charbroiled black brick full of molten slop.

TG: when did this happen

TT: It was about two years ago.

TG: thats so disappointing

TT: You're the last person on Earth who has any right to comment on what's disappointing. You had to get your bro to give your crush your email address because you were too much of a little bitch to give it to him yourself.

TG: hey fuck you i didnt ask you to do shit

TT: I did it because I have your best interest at heart, and it was getting really insulting to the family to have you looking like such a profound loser in front of an undisclosed quantity of kids on the internet.

TT: How many subscribers do you actually have right now?

TG: depends which website youre asking about

TT: Let's say the cumulative total of all websites you're on or run.

TG: hell millions

TT: Exactly, so you looking like a weepy, pining stable boy isn't cool.

TG: not everyone on every website knows who i am

TG: the accounts are totally separate and i dont make cross references to my other work

TT: Moot point, since it's already been handled anyway.

TT: Speaking of, how is Johnny boy?

TG: hes not online yet

TG: and dont call him johnny boy

TG: thats like creepy pedonormal activity

TT: Afraid he'll want to sit on uncle Dirk's lap more than yours?

TG: more than anything

TG: but mostly just because that is the most scarring mental image ive ever had thrust upon me and ive read roses wizard porn

TT: She's so talented. You could learn a lot about the finer points of artistic irony from her.

TG: i dont know how to talk to you without hating you at some point in the conversation

They went on this way for a long while, talking about nothing in particular because, even if it was stupid, it was still something to take up time until John signed back in. Sometimes Jake would type something to him using Dirk's handle because (according to Dirk) they were camped on the couch for a movie, and he didn't want to get up to let Jake grab his own computer to message him. It worked out anyway because Dave hated having a thousand message windows open at once, and it was slightly hilarious to see how whipped Dirk was when Jake was around. After about an hour, the name he'd stopped on behind the chat lit up, and when the smiley face next to it blinked from gray to yellow, Dave's entire demeanor shifted. He sat straight in his chair and felt _giddy_. 

\-- ectobiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 22:00 --

EB: dave?

TG: sup

EB: oh, sweet, it's really you. i was worried i was being punked or something.

TG: you can stop worrying your pretty little head

TG: youre definitely speaking with the one and only

EB: ok...

The conversation died for a moment, and he tried to persuade his fingers to continue working, but nothing came. His heart was fluttering. John Egbert made him doubt himself and feel like everything he wanted to say was only half as good as should have been. There were some intense new standards here to which he had never held himself, and it was throwing him way the hell off his game. 

EB: so, what now?

TG: no idea

TG: this is really awkward

TG: like eating spaghetti in front of someone

EB: haha, what?

TG: spaghetti is a fucking nightmare theres always shit going wrong

TG: like if you get your fork in it and twist it up the wad could be too big

TG: and then you try to eat it and look straight up paleolithic because you have to literally unhinge your jaw to get it in your mouth

TG: or you could keep retwisting the fork around until you get a reasonably sized wad of noodles

TG: but then the noodles come unwrapped and when you try to get it in your mouth they come undone on your face like a goddamn water wiggle and youre covered in tomato sauce

TG: the only other option is to make disgusting noises trying to slurp it all up noodle by noodle

TG: in all honesty i dont even see the point of spaghetti

EB: haha, dave, you are such a loser.

EB: i mean you're not how i thought you were at all.

TG: fuck you eggie smalls

EB: ??

TG: nevermind bad reference

TG: i forgot how debilitatingly caucasian you are

EB: dave, i don't think anyone would get that reference.

EB: because it was bad.

TG: fuck off

There was another pause in conversation, but this time it was pleasant, and Dave noticed absently that he had been smiling. It was nice. 

EB: so who was that guy today? like a bro or a dad?

TG: both

EB: ...

TG: wow no john

TG: i meant hes my bro but he practically raised me so hes also like a father

EB: oh! heheh...sorry.

TG: its cool

TG: that was probably poor wording on my part

EB: yeah

EB: hey, dave?

TG: yeah

EB: you want to go get coffee with me some time?

TG: you work in a coffee shop dude

"Stop stalling, you motherfucking moron, and say yes," he screamed at himself, mortified that he hadn't immediately just accepted. The cat was scratching at the door, so while John was typing a reply he got up and opened his bedroom window before returning to what was shaping up to be his favorite pesterlog of all time. It'd find its way inside eventually. 

EB: yeah, but the coffee there tastes horrible. i like milk and sugar as much as the next guy.

TG: truer words were never spoken

TG: okay then lets make this happen

TG: lets go to some cheapshit coffee house and get some cheapshit mocha frappa whatevas and just pal the fuck out

EB: awesome

EB: mocha frappa whatevas are the best.

TG: duh

EB: ok. well i'm really tired from work, so i am going to pass out now.

TG: alright man see you

EB: yeah, it was good talking to you.

TG: i know it always is

EB: smug ass. goodnight.

TG: night

\-- ectobiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

There was a stretch of time where he just sat there staring at the conversation window like he was memorizing every word, and then he spun his computer chair across the room, shouting 'yes!' at the top of his lungs, and didn't even try to keep his voice down. Predictably, the neighbors were vocally displeased. 

The elderly man who owned the twenty-four hour quick mart admirably did not stare when Dave Strider moonwalked straight-faced through the sliding glass doors at midnight and bought a package of top ramen, a bottle of gatorade, and a tin of cat food.


	4. You Put Your Whole Self In, You Take Your Whole Self Out

The message alert on his phone pinged, and he reopened the chat with John he'd woken up to that morning.

 

EB: you are taking so long, dude.

TG: how about you can walk your perky ass out here into the rain and piggy back me up this mountain im presently climbing if its really that much of an issue for you

TG: you should be counting yourself lucky i even volunteered to be out right now

TG: the unyielding dick of the heavens is pissing snowballs down my back and if i werent such an upstanding citizen concerned with making good on my promises i would have told you to fuck yourself and gone for coffee at a reasonable hour

TG: somewhere that wasnt situated on the most physically taxing leg of the tour de fucking france

EB: fine, fine! sorry, jeez you're grumpy.

TG: why are you even conscious right now youre like a stepford wife

TG: like if i possibly hadnt agreed to come meet you today you would have turned up at my door with my dry cleaning and a baked good smiling like enzyte bob

TG: oh hi dave thought you might like bundt cake and a fresh pair of pants to contain all your natural male enhancement after we assimilate you into our erectile dysfunction cult

TG: at a quarter to ungodly o'clock

EB: um...ok. i don't really get your fascination with dicks, but some of us have to keep normal hours. you know, for that crazy thing called work.

TG: i work

TG: my job just doesnt require me to roll out of bed to kick the early bird in the ass

EB: stop whining already sheesh, you're already awake.

EB: it's about to be my turn to order. do you want me to get you something and you can pay me back later?

EB: you know, just so you don't have to stand in line when you get here.

EB: (hehehehehehe)

TG: whatever the fuck that was should not happen again

TG: like at any time

TG: but yeah sure

EB: what kind of coffee do you want?

TG: i dont care

TG: get me the biggest of whatever has the most caffeine i guess

EB: ok, see you when you get here.

 

"I really do not like him this fucking much," he mumbled, closing the message window. It was some time around five past an unacceptable hour on a Sunday morning to be awake and doing anything but nursing a hangover, and his hand was covering his phone to shield it against the chilly drizzle. His soaked shoes were carrying him up what he was sure was one of the steepest hills in San Francisco, but according to the map on the screen it was the only way to get to the coffee shop where John had asked to meet. He couldn't have just suggested Starbucks because that would have been convenient for Dave, of course, but as he trudged on with his hood thrown up and failing fucking _miraculously_ to protect his hair from the weather, he didn't know why he wasted his breath; he damn well did like John that much. In fact, he liked John so much that he'd be willing to do the same thing every day for the rest of his life if it would guarantee him the chance to get good and slicked up and do the naked hokey-pokey with John until his dick fell off.

No, probably not that long. Maybe he'd take short breaks to rehydrate, he thought. There was definitely no danger that his gear might atrophy from disuse, though, and after he nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk he wished he had the energy or the flexibility to kick himself in the face for having thoughts, any thoughts, just thinking in general because idiots shouldn't think at any time, much less when they were groggy from only having gotten two hours of sleep, and he was just such a groggy idiot.

Fantasizing about wanting to get John between the sheets, using sex as an excuse to justify why he was out and about when normally he'd be curled up for, at least, the next five hours was all well and good until it came cascading down around his ears like so much bullshit when he managed to reach the coffee shop. Wet pants, wet socks, wet hair, spirits soaked, he stepped over the threshold, pushing his hood from his head and scanning the tables. Off to the side, an arm went up in the air, drawing his eyes. John was flagging him down to a table in the middle of the room, megawatt grin stretched from one ear to the other. Dave knew it was meant to be strictly friendly, but it left him feeling jittery and elated, so he let himself revel in the feeling, pretending it could mean more than what it did, and knew as he stalked across the room that this wasn't about sex in the least. He didn't want to get John naked. He wanted to get John smiling

"Wow, Dave, you're soaked. Why didn't you bring a raincoat or an umbrella or something?" he asked when Dave pulled out the chair across from him, and Dave almost didn't catch it because he was busy taking in everything about John: the way his eyes were a jewel navy in what little of the soft overhead lights caught in them, how the rain had left his dark hair looking even wilder than usual, the loose fabric neck of the worn shirt resting on his collar bones when he leaned forward on his arms, cradling a tall coffee cup with a chewed-tip straw sicking out of it. Fucking beautiful.

"I was barely awake enough to remember to pull my pants on. Cut me some slack," he said, a splotch of color in the seat catching his eye. Glancing down, he snorted at a bright pink whoopee cushion, inflated and resting where his ass was supposed to go. "Are you serious right now?" He grabbed it, squeezed the air out of it, and tossed it at John, taking his seat.

"Aw, damn it. You saw," he said disappointed, bringing his arms up to shield his face. It bounced off the backs of his hands onto the table, and he scooped it up, shoving it into the pocket of his shorts.

"No shit. The thing was like a flashing roadwork sign directing the sultry vehicle that is my ass which way to park. Where did you even get a whoopee cushion? I thought those were discontinued after they invented sticks - the clearly superior, more entertaining toy."

John rolled his eyes. "Blah blah blah. Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice? Stop talking, and have some coffee." He pushed the other large cup at Dave, but he was suspicious now, thinking back to their chat earlier.

"I call bullshit. I'm taking yours," he said, reaching over for John's and not sparing a moment to change straws. Even if he had spared a moment, he wouldn't have change them, and he felt only slightly stupid for being excited at the thought that his mouth was where John's had been a few moment before. A secondhand kiss was halsfway to first base. He was making progress, and he wasn't even trying. Though what little coffee he could get to his mouth was too sweet and made him slightly queasy, he kept drinking.

John made an indignant noise and tried to grab it back from Dave, but he pushed his chair away from the table, out of John's reach, and continued trying to coax something through the straw. The end of it was bitten nearly flat, though, so he just kept away from John's hands. "You take a sip of it first, and then I'll drink it."

"Oh, come on. I paid for it! You really think I'd sabotage something I spent my own money on just for the sake of a prank?" Dave shrugged, going back for more of John's coffee. "Ugh. Fine, okay? Stop drinking all of mine. Here, look." He pulled the clear plastic dome from the top of the cup, and a short clipping from the top of the straw came out with it, pulling out a party popper that had been hidden, buried in the whipped cream.

"Jesus, dude. A party popper? Really? So, what, I try to take a sip and get cream and confetti blown in my face like a 3AM cake stripper at a community college frat party?"

"Not like it matters. You didn't fall for it anyway," he said dejectedly, and Dave mentally kicked himself for being unable to drop the cool guy act for five seconds to let John enjoy a victory because now he wasn't smiling. John grabbed the string from the end of the straw and pulled it, and the party popper exploded, blowing bits of brightly colored, sticky paper across the table at Dave. Something stuck to his glasses, and he groaned, reaching up to pull them from his face so he could clean them.

"Nice, John," he said. "My bro's kind of like a master prankster at all things inconvenient, unfunny, and dipshit-like. You're going to have to step up your game if you want to get the drop on me, but there may be hope yet." He was looking down, rubbing the lenses clean with the underside of his hoodie, and when John didn't respond he glanced up to see he was being given an odd look. "What?"

"Nothing, you just took off your shades."

He realized he had never taken them off in front of John before and shrugged. "It's not really a big deal. I take them off all the time to sleep and bathe and shit. Besides, what else was I supposed to do after you creamed me?"

"Okay, but I've never seen your eyes before. It's just kind of surreal." ' _Your eyes are red. What the fuck_ ,' Dave imagined was what went unsaid. 

It didn't show on his face, never would, but he hated people drawing attention to his eyes because it just reminded him that they were exceptional in the way that had him doling out the rudest verbal ass whoopings (and sometimes the rudest physical ones) all the way through high school. That it was John who was doing the commenting made him feel awkward. He was never sure if the people who commented on them meant what they said or if they were doing the catty, two-faced bullshit that teenage girls did to each other when they said one thing and meant the opposite, but if he pretended not to care they were less likely to say anything. "Look at you, all fawning and using big words. Like what you see, Egbert?"

"Um, Dave, I'm sorry, but I don't really, you know," an awkward movement with his hands, "other guys."

Dave's stomach dropped straight to his heels, and he slipped instantly into Self Preservation Mode, raising a hand in defense. "Woah, man. It was a -," he started, trying to save face and feeling like an ass, thinking of all those times he'd caught Vriska's hands on John and wondering how he'd ever tried to kid himself that there wasn't something going on between them. But John's serious frown cracked into a smile, and he started laughing, so Dave trailed off.

The focus on his eyes left him feeling open for an attack, as it always did, so when John laughed loudly and said, "I am totally joking. Got you!" his hackles were still raised, and he wasn't ready to laugh with him. In fact, the 'joke' had set him effectively on edge, not sure if it had counted as an actual dig at his pride, but he was very leery about it. On the defensive now, he felt more stung than he would if nothing had been said about them, so he lashed out.

"Why would that be funny at all? Unless you think I'm straight, and you were trying to pull some god-tier, homophobe, bonding magic you thought would bring us closer together." As soon as he said it, he wanted to gnaw his tongue off, knowing that wasn't what John meant, but he only slid the glasses back onto his face and reclined against the backrest because turning it around and making John feel guilty took the focus off himself, and that was less uncomfortable.

John looked a little bewildered, and the smile slowly dissolved, leaving him staring unsure at Dave across the table. "Oh, no. Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought -."

"Not saying I don't occasionally get my bromosexuality on or anything, but even if I didn't I'd make it pretty crystal that your commentary wasn't needed." He hated the uneasy stress his words put in John's shoulders, but that was how he protected himself.

"I really am sorry, Dave. I wasn't trying to imply anything by it. I mean, _honestly_ , I really dunno what I am as far as all that goes, but I am definitely not a homophobe. I - ugh, bluh. Dang, this isn't going well. I am still getting used to how different everything is here. I didn't want to pick a fight with you, it's just hard to remember what I am allowed to joke about anymore. Can we forget I said anything about it and maybe just be friends?" He tried not to be skeptical that John 'not knowing what he was' was just backpedaling, but it was difficult when he was so twisted up now, cycling rapidly through anger, embarrassment, confusion, and the pangs of hope that he might genuinely have a chance. Using his fingers to pull the long part of the straw out of the coffee, John wiped the mess off on his pants.

"That sounds great."

"Oh, good. Um, can I have my coffee back now?"

"Negative, I've claimed it for Spain," he said, no longer bothering with trying to get anything out of the straw but reluctant to give it up. "Let's not forget the whole conversation, though, and talk about how you're an immigrant who's still getting used to things here."

He smiled brilliantly, and Dave's insides turned to mush. "Yeah, I moved out here with my cousin for school. I'm from Washington. It's not like back home at all."

"No shit. So, is Jade the cousin? I could see you two being related."

"Yeah, she is pretty awesome. So what about you? What brings the great Dave Strider to San Francisco? Unless you were born here."

"No, I moved here from Houston when I was thirteen, but that's a long, lame fucking story I don't feel like getting into right now. Let's focus on you for a while." John shrugged, and Dave thought about his mom, wondered how she was holding up in Switzerland, if she was any better than she had been the last time he saw her. Later, he decided, he'd give her a call and find out.

Thankfully, John had no problem talking about himself once he'd been prompted. As it turned out, John did not watch his videos, but Vriska had seen a few and told him what little she knew about them, so all of Dave's paranoia that John was aware of his feelings had been for nothing. He felt so relieved it surprised him, and he was slightly disturbed when John's eyes drifted to the ceiling, and he started to recall details about his past for Dave.

John grew up in a little town in Washington, had a dad who was really into Jeff Foxworthy (which Dave tried not to comment on) and big band, and named off some of the shittiest cinematic abortions ever directed as his favorite movies (which Dave could not help commenting on). Dave quietly relished every little thing he heard. Sure, Little Monsters was unwatchable 80s tripe, and fruit gushers were the dietary swill of the earth, but that John liked them lent massive credibility. There was something goofy about John that made his sincere, undying appreciation of Nic Cage entirely appropriate, and Dave couldn't imagine him being any different. The only thing that he found genuinely creepy was when John pulled out his phone to show him a picture of his pet iguana, Casey, and the fucking thing was bright orange and leering into the camera like it was either brain dead or out for blood.

In return, Dave told John that he had an older brother named Dirk and a paternal twin named Rose, but other than that he was disinclined to offer up any details. The past was the past, and his business was his own until he was more at ease around John, which he didn't think would happen soon considering how wishy-washy John was about some things, specifically whether or not he did "you know...other guys." He'd be assertive one second, and then he'd backtrack the next and say 'kind of,' 'a little,' or 'I think,' like he was unsure if it was the truth or if he actually meant it. Then, he'd drop it altogether and move on to the next topic, all while flashing Dave obliviously with that stupid grin. More than anything John said that might have offended him, that indecisiveness was what really made Dave antsy. Normally, he didn't have the patience to deal with people who made him nervous and would have long since made an exit, but he stayed anyway because, between sips of iced coffee that left his throat chilly, the gray, drifting flurry on the windows that made the cafe seem more cozy than it probably was, and the way John's eyes translated indescribably between blue, black, and violet in the dim light, he couldn't tear himself away. They must have talked for two hours before John was checking the time.

When he said he needed to get home to check on Casey because she had been sick recently, they decided to wait until the rain let up to make a run for it. Dave went along without protest, all the while wishing he could stay a little longer to feel John's knee brush his under the table once more the way it had been doing all morning. After the first time, John had ducked and glanced down at their legs before he apologized, after the second he had said 'oops' and laughed it off, and after the third he'd forgotten about it entirely. It would have been easy for Dave to sit up straight in his chair and pull his legs back to stop it, but he pretended they were too long and stayed right where he was until the conversation halted and John pointed out the window. The rain had stopped enough to walk through comfortably, and he rose to walk around the table.

Dave followed suit, pushing his chair back and grabbing his trash before he turned to face John and had to restrain himself from laughing. They had never stood together before, so he hadn't realized how short John actually was, but now that he was side by side with him, he wondered how he'd never noticed the difference between them. Pushing past John to hold the door open, he made it a point to stick his arm out so John would have to duck under it. "Woah, what happened to the rest of you?" He flicked his wrist up and down the length of his body, and John groaned, rolling his eyes like he was tired of the conversation before it had even begun.

"I don't want to hear it. I am like an inch shorter," he said, knocking Dave's arm out of the way and darting down the hill toward the bus stop.

Dave cocked an eyebrow, easily catching him and tugging up his hood. "Right. Try like six."

"It's not that much!"

"Or twelve."

"Maybe I might be sensitive about my height, jerk. Did you think of that?" They were nearly running down the sidewalk, John trying to get away from Dave, and Dave unwilling to let him because he'd found a new button to push. There was nothing like finding a new button to push, even if he thought he was in danger of slipping at any moment while he ducked and bobbed around the other pedestrians to keep up.

"Dude, I'm not saying anything, but are you or are you not here to represent the Lollipop Guild?"

"Hey! Fuck you, Dave. I could ask what happened to the rest of _your_ body. You look like an old garden hose."

"I guess from way down there your perception of my manly bod might be a little skewed, but I assure you that beneath this hoodie lies a chiseled Adonis."

"Chiseled out of bone, maybe, so you can eat a dick because you need to eat something _,_ and I am still growing."

It was cute how angry John was getting about it. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Sideways, maybe." They came upon the bus stop just as the rain started again, and when Dave settled into the seat beside John's, he looked annoyed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was giving Dave the most nonplussed look he'd ever seen on him. He spread his arms over the low back of the seat and resisted lighting up, not sure how John would react to it. Most of the city was a _No Smoking_ zone, but he only cared when it was convenient. For the moment, it was convenient. 

"Okay, shut up. My mom was really small, and my dad is more stocky than anything. It's just genetics, and at least I have a normal body weight for my height. Do you never eat at all? Looking at you makes me want to do push-ups. Now, I know why you hate noodles. It's practically cannibalism." Aside from the two of them, there as no one around because, obviously, everyone else was smart and still in bed or at least somewhere dry and comfortable. The soles of his shoes were completely soaked through, and his socks were wet up to his cold ankles under his jeans. He was too close to John, and he could feel that little bit of imagined heat coming off his knee from where it was nearly touching his thigh. If he were a braver person, he'd close the distance and call it an accident, but he wasn't, so he didn't and kept imagining there was heat there. It was almost friendly with the straight-down rain making perforated tracks on the shadow-box scene of the street ahead of them, but they were as dry as they could be, sheltered from it together even if there was a moldy smell stuck to the walls.

"So, if it's not too personal, can I ask you a question?" John asked. Dave slid his eyes over, shrugging.

"Nothing's really off limits to ask about because I kind of don't give a fuck, so sure. Go ahead. Just don't get too worked up if my answer isn't what you were looking for."

"What's it like being with another guy?"

He spoke without pause to try and cover how off guard he was taken by the question, but his throat went dry and he was afraid his voice would crack. "It's like being with a girl but with more sausage for breakfast." Boy, was he romantic. This was how seduction was done.

"Oh, gross, Dave. I didn't mean that."

"What are you looking for here, Egbert, a sonnet? It's biology. There's another dick in the equation, and that's all there is to say about it."

"Yeah, but, I meant how does it feel?" Dave took a moment to swallow and clear his throat.

"Here's what you do: imagine the last girl you had sex with."

He made a face and fidgeted like he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation had gone, which annoyed Dave further given he was the one who asked. "Alright."

"Now put a joystick on her. Congratulations, you just had your first gay sex experience."

"That can't be right."

"Look, sex is just sex to me. Obviously, there are different shenanigans a guy gets up to between the birds and bees, and some folks are better at it, but at the end of the day it's all just to pop one off, and an orgasm is an orgasm. Doesn't really matter how it happens. Getting one from a chick feels the same as getting one from a dude."

"Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have asked." He relaxed and leaned against the seat back only to jerk forward again and turn in his chair to look down at Dave's arm, then back at Dave skeptically. "You trying to put the moves on me, Dave? I told you I didn't like guys."

Dave pulled his arm away like he'd been bitten and thought about mentioning the fact that, for someone who didn't like guys, he was scarily fucking inquisitive about Dave's same-sex sex life. "I was just resting it there. Stop freaking out."

John laughed again, though, and Dave grit his teeth, beginning to be pissed off about the way John was jerking him around. "I got you again!"

The rain was coming in fast and heavy, and they were almost shouting at each other to be heard over the sound of it pelting against the slim, red roof. When the bus squealed around the bend, sloshing through a gray pool of rainwater, Dave stayed seated. John stood and looked at him, pulling his bus card from his pocket. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'm thinking of sticking around. I need to buy food for my cat." What he needed was to recuperate from the emotional tumble dry John had run him through all morning and have a smoke, he thought, but he might well pick up some cat food while he was out.

"I didn't know you had a cat."

"I guess it never came up."

The bus rolled up in front of them, door sliding open, and John hesitated before he said, "Well, I guess I will see you around, then." Then, he took a step forward before stopping just as he was nearly out from under the roof and turning, rain hitting his unprotected back. "You are coming to work Wednesday, right?" His eyes were that horrible, knee-buckling navy color again, and of course Dave was going to be there Wednesday.

"Yeah, and I'm bringing some friends with me. I'd hate to leave you hanging, since we all know how much you'd miss me."

"There you go again..," he sighed. "I will be on pesterchum later. Talk to me then," he said. Then, he dashed into the bus, and Dave watched him walk from the front to the back and plop down in a seat with his back to the window as it drove away. He curled the fingers of one hand tightly into a frustrated ball, and with the other fished in his hoodie's pocket for his cigarettes. While he had some relative privacy, he finished one off and then ventured out into the mess again for that cat food, trying not to over-think how much more confusing John was now that he was replaying breakfast through his head, but it went poorly. By the time he got home, fishing his keys out of his wet pocket with the hand not holding the grocery bag and shouldering the door open, he was keeping his eyes down, unnecessarily worried that everyone could see them even behind his glasses.

After feeding the cat, stuffing what little else he'd bought into the cabinet space that wasn't occupied by the jars of preserved bugs he collected, he flopped onto the couch and melted into the cushions, rubbing his hands over his face. For a long while, he thought about going back to sleep there on the couch, but he remembered wanting to call his mother and wanted to hear her voice just for what small, familiar comfort it could give him, however distant. It was odd that he couldn't rely on her, hadn't relied on her for much since he was old enough to tie his own laces and climb up on the bathroom counter to get his own band-aids, but he wanted to more than anything sometimes. It was why he didn't call her very much.

The phone only rang once before she picked up, bubbly and thrilled that he'd called. They talked for nearly an hour about things like his life and hers, how slow her work was going, how she missed Dave so much that she watched all of his videos and read all of his articles just to keep up with him.

 

" _Your sister and your brother call me way more than you do. Is everything okay, or are you just too busy batting the girls away to bother with your poor old mom, mister big time video star?_ "

"Yeah, I got some irons in the fire," he said, thinking of John and pushing away from the couch to take himself into the bathroom.

" _Aw, that sounds fun! Just remember to be careful, babs. Follow your heart and be happy, but keep your guard up, kay_?" The way her voice went soft when she said it made his heart ache, and he knew what she was thinking about. A woman's muffled voice bled briefly through the receiver, and his mother groaned. " _Soz', baby love, but I gotta bust out. They're calling me down to the lab again. Big bad data jumbles to unravel!_ "

"Alright." He pulled the shades from his face and set them on the counter, watching his reflection without turning on the light.

" _Anyways, I love you, and since I always gotta remind you: say it back, now._ "

"I love you, too."

She gasps dramatically. " _Oh, no...You didn't even argue. One: boring. Two: now, I know somethin's up._ "

"No, mom, my life is crescent fresh. Shit is hearts, stars, and horseshoes. I was just checking in to make sure you haven't blown up Europe yet."

" _Aaaaagh, fine, be difficult. I really gotta go now, or I'd get it outta you, so don't think I'm giving up. All the pretty pink hearts for my iddle baby genius, and seriously call me more often. I mean, damn._ "

"Will do. Bye, mom."

" _Bye bye."_

The whole time she'd been speaking, he'd been scowling at his own red eyes, maroon in what faint light came from the hallway. When he hung up, he continued staring at them, leaning in and running the tip of his thumb under the crest of his eyelashes to pull the bottom lid back for a better view. The corner of his mouth pulled down disapprovingly. He let go of his face, turned on the light, and took a shower, and though he didn't mean a word of it the video he filmed that night was an impromptu attack of the most spiteful, condescending, personal kind on people with imperfect teeth. He wouldn't be surprised to see his subscriber count drop noticeably the next morning.

By Wednesday afternoon, he was debating whether or not he really did want to go to the cafe, from shame and the renewed nervousness at being around John after their outing, but he'd already said he would, so at four o'clock he was flicking the smoked-down butt of a cigarette over the staircase railing and pulling his door shut. The lady in the apartment next door to his waved at him as he passed, and he nodded back in greeting, tugging his ringing phone out of his pocket.

"Hola."

" _Honk._ "

He hung up without further exchange and proceeded the rest of the way to the concrete corridor that ran from his complex and the parking lot before it was ringing again. "We going to try this one more time?" he asked after accepting the call.

" _No need to be all hostile and shit, my brother._ "

"Why isn't Karkat calling me?"

" _Little dude's got his hands all kinds of preoccupied with the motherfucking steerage wheel._ "

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. "Karkat, who has the worst road rage of any living life form in the reaches of known space and has to pull the seat all the way up to reach the pedals, is driving your car, even though you're currently  _in_ your car. I'm genuinely shocked you would make a call like that." The sun was hot on his cheek, and he hung the phone up without waiting for Gamzee's response when he saw them pulling in. His arms and the untamed black mop of his hair were stuck out the window, and when he turned his head around to point him out to Karkat, he swerved the car and jack-knifed to a stop across three empty spaces in front of him.

"Sweet drifting, Karkat."

"Shut up and get in the vehicle, Skeleton Jack." Gamzee willingly crawled over the center console to settle lazily across the backseat so that Dave could sit in the passenger's side.

"Thanks."

"Not even a problem, my righteously sun-shaded brother. Would you all up and be caring for a hit of this delicious motherfucking bud?"

"What's the blend?"

"White Widow, motherfucker."

"I'm good." He wouldn't have accepted even if it were something not quite so strong, but he definitely didn't want to show up high as a kite and have to carry on a conversation with John. Some peppy love song was playing on the radio, and he assumed Karkat had control of the radio.

His hands tightened on the wheel. "Thanks for offering me some, Gamzee," he said. "You're a real charitable fucking guy. No, honestly. I'm balls deep in a veritable mating canal of good will and generosity. Someone stop him before I ejaculate from all the altruism and impregnate the spirit of compassion."

Dave whistled. "I have a dream that one day I'll be as classy as you. It's a thing that's on my bucket list."

"Eat shit, you mealy, worthless, tape worm-ridden prick."

Gamzee snickered and shuffled through the CDs on the floor. "Can't be all having you puffing at this, the most magic of the motherfucking dragons, when you've got your drive on and happening so nice, brother. No doubt, a motherfucker's safety's got to come as the first."

"All I heard was 'Hi, I'm Gamzee. I'm a burden to society who holds the blue ribbon for being a waste-oid of astronomical proportions, and I'm making Karkat brownies when I get home,'" Karkat said. Gamzee reached a long leg between the seats to tickle the edge of Karkat's face with the toe of his sneaker, and when Karkat turned around to rain fists down on him, Dave reached out to steady the car by putting a hand on the wheel and wondered where his life had gone so wrong that this was his reality.

John was manning the counter when they walked in, and without missing a beat he leaned over to wrap Dave up in a tight hug like they were best friends already, which only made him slightly uneasy. Karkat grimaced, but when Dave stepped back Gamzee opened his arms wide like he was expecting one, too, so he tried to convey to John with a look that it was nonnegotiable. It seemed to work when they shared an awkward, extended hug.

John clapped Gamzee on the back several times and withdrew his arms in an attempt to signal it was over to no avail, and finally it was Karkat who stepped in to end it. He snapped his fingers in Gamzee's face and pulled at his ear until he let John go, but when John made a comment that he thought he was taller than Karkat, Karkat told Gamzee he could go back to holding him as tightly as he wanted. He was already spreading his arms and leaning down toward John again when Dave caught him by his back pocket and towed him over to a table after passing Karkat a twenty, letting him order for them.

Gamzee started rearranging the sugar packets and condiment bottles as soon as he was seated, and Dave sat watching him, fascinated with the intricate ketchup-and-napkin castle he was constructing until Karkat returned, rolling his eyes. "That is one disgusting individual. He's a bus boy; why is he so chipper?" he asked when he sat down, looking back over his shoulder at John, who waved at them. Immediately, Dave saw an opportunity to aggravate him and leapt.

"Don't even think about it, Karkat."

"What?"

"That thing you do when you like someone but pretend to hate them to make yourself look like less of an uncontrollable, pants-pissing, brain aneurysm in a turtle neck."

"I didn't think - pretentious albino  _fuck,_ don't pretend like you know how I work. You don't."

"Actually, there's about a one-hundred percent chance that you were thinking John's got a nice ass." There wasn't, but Dave had been thinking it, and there was a vein in Karkat's left eye he had been trying to burst for years that looked like it was only waiting for the right kind of incentive. He was hopeful he'd figure it out one day.

Karkat flushed from the neck up and glared as hard as he could. "I wasn't doing anything close to that! Not everyone shares your shitty tastes and wants to collect dead insects, moldy food, and oblivious, grabby dorks in glasses."

"Whatever, I'm not here to judge. I'm here to lay down the fucking law. Law is: I've already put an X on that spot. I'm just shining up my spade and waiting to commence with the shoveling of sexual buried treasure. Since I'm the clearly superior shoveler, it'll be easier in the long run if you give up hope now."

"This is the rankest smelling, most deplorable, diarrheal gas spray of a conversation I have ever had he supreme displeasure of engaging in with you, and that's really saying something considering everything that tumbles from the tightly puckered pink asshole you try to pass for a mouth is useless shit."

He clapped sarcastically for what he reasoned was the nastiest metaphor Karkat had used in the past month, including his earlier gem. "Wow, you're on a roll today. How can such a tiny, tiny man contain so much anger?"

"Miracles, my brother," Gamzee cut in, and Dave didn't bother responding because he saw blue in the corner of his eye and looked to see John heading toward them.

"Gamzee, I swear upon all you hold dear that I am going to staple your dick to your belly button and pluck it like a banjo," Karkat said, and John's eyebrows went up when he sat down hesitantly in the empty chair beside Dave.

"Hi..." John trailed off. Karkat was prodded by Gamzee to swallow the rest of his insults and say hello, and after he had he received an appraising pat to his head that he tried to shrug off.

"Yeah, don't mind them," Dave said. "They're cooler than they first appear." A middle finger was aimed his way from Karkat, and Gamzee easily pushed his hand back down to his lap.

"Manners, Karbro. Got to remember those all delicate motherfuckers to talk at a new friend, feel me?" Karkat groaned but begrudgingly introduced himself to John, followed by Gamzee, and the rest of their conversation was pleasant until John excused himself from the table to grab their food. Jade had taken his place at the register while he spent his break eating and listening to them antagonize each other.

It was nice to see John there, hanging around laughing and talking with his friends like he was part of the group. There were moments when it got awkward, like when Gamzee brought up Dave's music, and John spent the next five minutes asking if he could hear some. He played it off like John was too uncool to handle his flawlessly crafted ironic genius, but in truth he was nervous as all hell and didn't want to have to deal with the awkward waiting period of showing someone important his work and waiting for them to give their opinion. When John admitted that he was something of a musician himself, Dave conceded to a trade, and they went back to arguing amongst each other. Karkat dominated those arguments.

"I can barely understand most of what he says," John leaned over to whisper in his ear when Karkat was too busy talking at (not with) Gamzee to notice. Dave struggled between bristling and thrilling at the breath on his ear, so he did a little of both, sitting up and turning toward him to whisper in kind.

"You should hear him when he's mad. It's like he's speaking a second language." He ran his finger around the edge of his glass and nodded to him. "He called a bathtub an ablution hole once or something. It was fucking sad."

"You are a dork, and you have weird taste in the the company you keep, but you're okay, I guess," John laughed.

"And you're dumb, but you're okay, too."

"Wow, lame. I thought you were supposed to be witty and have all these great comebacks and stuff. Here you are echoing me."

"I got comebacks for every occasion, Egbert. I'm Hallmark in a pair of Ray-bans, so bite me."

"With teeth like these? I would decapitate you," he grinned playfully.

It stabbed Dave in the gut and had him remembering his video. "Your teeth are perfect," he deadpanned, and he meant it.

"Oh." He was obviously surprised at the sudden turn of mood and avoided Dave's eyes, wiping a nonexistent spot from the table with his napkin before he dumped it onto his plate. "Um...Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties twisted about it. It's just an indisputable fact of fucking life that you should get used to."

"Okay, Bruno Mars."

"I think it's time for you to get back to work, now."

"Pfft, whatever," he said, but stood anyway. "I will talk to you later then, if you're going to be online."

"Count on it."

"Awesome. See you, Dave!" After another devious laugh that made Dave a little nervous, he was leaving.

"Peace," he mumbled after him, watching John make his way back into the kitchen. It wasn't until after the door was swinging back on its hinges that he realized how silent it was at his table, and he turned to see Gamzee grinning at him like a smug piece of shit and Karkat watching like he was the last five minutes of _Letters to Juliet_. He felt the upturned corner of his mouth droop at the sight of them both, unaware he'd been smiling until he felt the urge to frown again, and pulled his phone out to message Terezi, thinking he should have introduced John to to her instead of these assholes.

"Aw, if that ain't the cutest motherfucking -"

"Choke on it, Faygo," he cut in. Next time, he was definitely bringing Terezi.


	5. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.

The days were long and the hours weren't, and he found himself wrapped up stupidly in a boy who made him feel like a fly resting on an electric fence, knowing someone was going to throw the switch before he caught his breath enough to move on. They went to breakfast, they went to lunch, they went places that he didn't remember because all he knew was he was with John, and John stood center stage and conducted his attention from under blinding spotlights wherever they went and whatever they did.

He visited Rose and thought blue, Dirk and thought black, the streets at night that took him to the corner store and thought about the breath he couldn't catch, and when he curled up to sleep in a tiny bed that was acres and plains of bare space and couldn't avoid the want anymore, he reached for his phone to talk to John, for however long he could get, because he couldn't close his eyes without knowing he still could. They played games with Gamzee and Karkat, and Dave lost because he watched John's hands and had to neglect his own, abuse them and leave them hungry because they weren't allowed to just reach out and devour John when he did the wonderful things that shouldn't have been so wonderful like jumping off the couch to dance victorious in the middle of the room when he won a round. Dave normally hated losing. He was a terrible sport and egocentric on his best days, but losing a round of Street Fighter didn't mean much anymore; John had been winning more important rounds for a lot longer than he realized, and when he settled back in between Dave and Karkat with a smug, perfect grin, Dave didn't think it was fair at all. It made him uncomfortable.

And apparently it also made him a poetic, flowery, jackass.

Loud chitchat from the crowds and the splashing of the fountain ahead had him shifting on the wide concrete step, tugging his phone out of his pocket by the wire to turn up the volume, and he flipped through the course selection book balanced on his knee to check off which credits he'd already done, letting his eyes drift from the page to the lettering on the campus building when he couldn't concentrate anymore. If he'd been smart, he would have gone straight through without stopping to get his bachelor's degree instead of taking a year and a half off from school, but at the time he needed the money more than the classes. It wasn't like he had much choice.

While he had his phone out, he opened pesterchum.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC] at 13:03 --

TG: hey you coming

GC: Y3S

GC: 4ND 1 H4V3 4 SURPR1S3 FOR YOU

GC: GU3SS WH4T 1T 1S

TG: please dont say chalk

GC: 1T

TG: not chalk

GC: 1S

TG: its not chalk

GC: CH4LK

TG: scared the crap out of me there for a sec

TG: thought you were gonna say chalk

TG: what a shock to the system

 

He didn't actually hate chalk, but it had a way of keeping his thoughts and hands distracted while Terezi worked all of his secrets out of him, and it always managed to get everywhere. In his hair, on his clothes, on his skin, the shit was worse than glitter, and she never let him out of drawing with her. Before reading her next message (She was blind, but her phone used some bootleg prototype voice software their friend Sollux designed for her to read messages outloud and use voice commands to operate), he shrugged out of his jacket, rolled up the course selection book to stuff in a jacket pocket, and slid his shirt sleeves up to prepare himself for what little of the hassle he could.

 

GC: >:]

GC: YOU 4R3 SO DR4M4T1C

GC: 1T M4K3S M3 SUSP1C1OUS TH4T YOU H4V3 B33N SP3ND1NG T1M3 W1TH 3R1D4N L4T3LY

TG: if id spent anything with eridan lately we wouldnt be having this conversation

TG: because id have casually stepped in front of a bus

TG: and even then hed still probably be whining about the friend zone in the flattened shell of my ear

GC: H3S NOT SO B4D 4NYMOR3

GC: F3F3R1 H4S R34LLY C4LM3D H1M DOWN

TG: all i know is when we were in high school the guy was in hysteric tears every time he couldnt get a jar open

TG: he didnt even go to our school but he was always hanging around karkat and gamzee

TG: being around the three of them at once was like watching an episode of oprah on a bad acid trip

TG: i mean its bad enough that karkat legit thinks hes doctor phil

TG: but when someone else in the room also thinks hes doctor phil

TG: i feel like im attending sunday fucking mass on a morphine drip

TG: eridan was like the only other person besides gam who had a car and he couldnt just go to the mall or something like a normal sixteen y/o no that would make sense

TG: you can say whatever you want about it but theres no way he didnt have a lojack on karkat

GC: YOU SHOULD B3 MOR3 APPR3C14T1V3 OF H1M

GC: 1F H3 H4D N3V3R BROUGHT K4N4Y4 W1TH H1M TO TH3 4W4Y G4M3 TH4T D4Y

GC: YOUR S1ST3R WOULD B3 OUT OF 4 G1RLFR13ND!

GC: B3S1D3S, 1T IS NOT L1K3 YOU ST4Y3D TO T4LK TO H1M

GC: YOU 4LW4YS LUR3D M3 4W4Y W1TH YOUR DUB1OUS PROM1S3S OF H4NKY P4NKY AND FR33 LUNCH

GC: 1 JUST R34L1Z3D YOU H4V3 A V3RY B4D H4B1T OF T3MPT1ING UNSUSP3CT1NG BYST4ND3RS W1TH FOOD

GC: 1T COULD 4LMOST B3 CONS1D3R3D BR1B3RY

GC: CR1M1N4L R34LLY

GC: 4ND YOU KNOW WH4T W3 DO W1TH CR1M1N4LS D4V3

TG: yeah yeah this conversation is falling asleep at the wheel

TG: when you gonna get your fine sightless ass down here so we can commence with the macking already

GC: SHORTLY

GC: HOW M4NY P4C3S 4W4Y FROM TH3 FL4GPOST 4R3 YOU???

 

He glanced up and did a quick count.

 

TG: thirty two to where im sitting by the fountain

GC: 1 C4N B4R3LY H34R MY PHON3 OV3R TH3 P3OPL3 IN TH3 H4LLW4Y

GC: SO 1LL B3 TH3R3 1N 4 F3W

TG: try not to salivate all over your homework before you get here

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC] \--

 

Technically, he hadn't _needed_ the money as much as he pretended he had. Dirk would've let him stay as long as he wanted, had this kind of overbearing brotherly love shtick going for him, but Dave had wanted his own place since before he graduated, to get out from under his brother's umbrella and out of his hair. It was right around the time Dirk met Jake that Dave decided it had to happen fast.

Dave knew he'd want to bring Jake to the states eventually, to sweep him off his feet with some overly premeditated wooing, and for that he'd need a quiet house or at least the extra room, and Dave wasn't much for depending on other people anyway, family or not. So, he took a break from school to save funds enough for his own place and didn't go back until he started making real money from his videos, unwilling to allow Dirk to pay for any more of his classes. Dirk didn't see it the way he did, of course, but Dave felt like he owed him for the trouble, and he hated that feeling. When he was in control, master and commander of every aspect of his life, was when he felt best, not owing anyone anything and not waiting for anything from anyone. It was a lot of the reason John had him so twisted up; he was keeping Dave waiting on some kind of assurance that he was or wasn't interested, but all he seemed to get out of the few times they'd spent time together was that John didn't even know what he wanted himself. That, or he knew what he wanted and was dicking around with Dave's emotions with his back-and-forth bullshit because it was fun.

His thoughts wandered, and he leaned back on his elbows, thinking of the last time they'd all been together at Karkat's place. Since introducing them to each other, John had been invited to their house once or twice to hang out without Dave on his off days. It went fine from what he'd heard, better than that, and as far as he could tell John and Karkat were like two peas in the Appreciation for the Greatest Cinematic Tragedies of All Time pod. It left him more than slightly jealous when Karkat made offhand comments about knowing John's favorite color (It was blue.) or candy (Fruit Gushers, but he couldn't stand too many at a time before switching to Fun Dip.), or what kind of music he liked (Soundtracks to cheesy action flicks, of course.), and it left Dave with the prickling feeling that he was in debt to Karkat for all the info he'd been given because, as soon as he stopped being an enormous chicken shit and worked up the courage to have John over to his own apartment for some R&R, he planned on making very good use of it. All he'd managed so far, though, was to embarrass himself by sending John an endless onslaught of offline messages which started with Dave meaning to ask him over and ended with something like a, ' _so yeah later i guess_ ,' after having stumbled awkwardly through several unrelated topics. If he could, he'd even the score with Karkat that afternoon anyway, even if he still hadn't managed to find the words to say he wanted John in his house but that nudity was optional.

With a beep, his phone asked for his attention again, and he brought up the new message.

 

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 13:14 --

CG: I UNDERSTAND THAT ASKING YOU TO DO FAVORS, OR TO DO ANYTHING THAT REQUIRES A MINIMUM LEVEL OF INTELLECTUAL COGNIZANCE FOR THAT MATTER, IS WHAT SOME WOULD SEE AS A NEAR LEVIATHAN WASTE OF TIME.

CG: AND I'D LIKELY GIVE MYSELF CARPAL TUNNEL ATTEMPTING TO TALK YOU INTO NOT BEING MORE USELESS THAN THE CRUSTED OLD DOG SHIT THAT GETS STUCK IN THE TRACKS OF MY SNEAKERS AFTER A JOG THROUGH THE PROJECTS.

CG: BUT IF YOU COULD STOP JUTTING YOUR THUMB UP YOUR ASS WHILE FOAMING SALACIOUSLY AT THE MOUTH OVER SLIGHTLY MENTALLY STUNTED, TASTELESS, BUCK TOOTHED FREAKS WITH A PENCHANT FOR BEING COMPLETELY FUCKTARDED AND MANAGE A KIND OF MIRACULOUS FLIPFLOP INTO SOME COMMON DECENCY JUST LONG ENOUGH TO PICK UP A COURSE SELECTION BOOK FOR ME WHILE YOU'RE ON CAMPUS.

CG: THAT WOULD BE ASTRONOMICAL.

TG: send nudes

CG: FUCK ME IN THE EYE.

TG: got me all ready for the heavy shit with this thumb talk take responsibility desu

TG: send nudes

CG: STRIDER

TG: send nudes

CG: THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN THE LOWEST LEVELS OF HELL FOR YOUR TYPE OF PERSON

TG: send nudes

CG: WHERE YOU WILL BE FUCKED FOR ALL ETERNITY

TG: ooh yeah talk dirty to me kitten

CG: IN THE AGONIZED HOLE AT THE END OF YOUR SPINE WHERE THE MOUND OF AN ASS WOULD BE ON ANYONE WHO WASN'T A POSTER CHILD FOR HUNGER RELIEF

TG: just like that purr

CG: BY A STRONG-ARMED LUMBERJACK WIELDING A RUSTED RAIN GUTTER.

TG: you really know how to get a guy going

CG: AS LONG AS THE GUY IS YOU AND WHERE HE'S GOING IS STRAIGHT TO HELL I'M FINE WITH THAT. ECSTATIC EVEN.

TG: aw man sorry but this hot blind chick with chalk just walked up and asked if i was dtf

TG: i know it was getting good

CG: WAIT. TEREZI IS THERE?

TG: cant talk anymore gotta free up my hands

CG: I PRAY TO GOD EVERY NIGHT THAT ONE DAY YOU WILL BE BLITHELY STEPPING OVER A MANHOLE, BOPPING YOUR HEAD TO THE SHITTIEST TOP 40 REMIX OF THE WEEK, AND IT WILL ERUPT IN A PRESSURIZED GEYSER OF HUMAN WASTE STRONG ENOUGH TO BLAST THE FLESH FROM YOUR FACE. DON'T DISRESPECT HER LIKE THAT.

TG: ill put in a good word for you and call it even with the whole john thing

CG: I HONESTLY DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE EVEN ON ANYMORE.

CG: TALKING TO YOU MAKES THE INSIDE OF MY HEAD FEEL LIKE IT'S BEING FILLED WITH ANGRY FIRE ANTS ALL CONVERGING ON MY TEMPORAL LOBES TO FEAST.

CG: TELL SOLLUX WHEN YOU SEE HIM THAT MY REVENGE IS GOING TO BE SWIFT, AND TO PREPARE HIS ASS TO BE JUSTICE PUMMELED BY THE LONG DICK OF THE LAW.

TG: hahaha wow

TG: terezi cant read these messages bro you can stop trying so hard

CG: HA HA. MAN, I FORGOT HOW FUNNY YOU ARE WHEN YOU'RE BEING AN ENORMOUS PIECE OF SHIT.

CG: GET ME MY COURSE BOOK.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

 

"It is not ladylike to sit with your legs open like that, Coolkid." He shut off the screen and looked over to her as she made her way towards him, not bothering to use the cane she had haphazardly swung over one shoulder. The morning was breezy and blue, and he rolled his jacket up, pushing it off his lap.

"How do you know I've got my legs open? You fantasizing about getting between these thighs again, T?"

"Hah! More like I can smell your dirty underwear," she laughed.

"Nice try, but I'm freeballin'."

"You are a terrible floozy."

"You know me. Ankles out and affronting the sirs at all times. Give us a kiss." She squatted down beside him and made like she would until she was too close for him to get away, then she opened her mouth wide and dragged her tongue from his neck to his hairline.

"I don't know why I thought letting you put your mouth near my face would result in anything else," he said as he pulled up his collar to wipe his face, watching her slide the bag off her back and fish around inside until she produced a thick box of chalk and handed him a nearly unused purple, taking all that was left of the worn down red for herself.

"It's like you don't know me at all. I would feel insulted if you weren't so delicious." With a final wink in his direction, she was on her hands and knees, already sketching what looked like the beginnings of a devastating highway accident featuring ambulances, police cars, and a lumpy helicopter throwing an off-centered spotlight pathetically far from where the actual crash was happening. "Were you here long?"

Setting his jacket far enough away from her that he figured it wouldn't get too filthy, he moved into a crouch with the chalk and felt his disdain for the mess lost to the familiar scrape as it yielded under the weight of his hand, soft purple dust fanning out on rough concrete. "Yeah, but it's not a big deal. I kept myself busy talking to your boyfriend." He watched her eyes roll behind the red tint of her glasses and avoided looking at the scars because he knew she hated it when people felt bad for her. Before he moved to California and met her, she had an accident in a firework fight with her sister when she was thirteen, leaving her blinded and her sister's left side burned pretty bad, or so he had heard. Her sister didn't go to school with them, so he had never met her; after the accident, their parents separated. Terezi stayed with her mom, and her sister moved away with her dad, and she wasn't big on talking about her family. By the time Dave had entered the ninth grade, it was old news that no one brought up, which was fine, because Dave didn't really give a shit. He preferred to live in the present.

"Don't call him that. We only made out that one time because I felt bad for him, and that was so long ago. Before we knew about Nepeta." The memory of that day in tenth grade when Karkat admitted to never having been kissed and Terezi laughed outright before pulling him in across the lunch table and stealing it from him in the wettest, lewdest, most unacceptable excuse for a PDA that Dave was sure he'd ever see used to make him laugh, but now it made him nostalgic. He smiled anyway and wondered if he and Terezi ever would have dated if Gamzee hadn't introduced Nepeta to the group.

"Yeah, but this is Karkat. It was just a kiss to you, but to him that was like a life pledge. You're practically the Shrek to his Fiona."

"Does that mean that Gamzee is the funny donkey sidekick with the endearingly bucktoothed smile who makes references to obscure media which I don't fully understand but appreciate for their pop-cultural merit?"

"If that's you calling Gamzee an ass, then yeah, you bet," he said, doodling out a panel featuring two of the characters from his comic and wondering if it would be ethical to charge admission to anyone who saw, but his thoughts fizzled and blinked out like an old screen before the picture opened again on another endearingly bucktoothed smile, and he sat back on the balls of his feet. The knees of his jeans were predictable filthy, and he watched a girl with stickers on her backpack edge the lip of the fountain, looking down at a cellphone. The stickers weren't right, her hair wasn't in a ponytail, but she was just enough like that girl in eighth grade, and just different enough, to remind him of another one - a worse one - and send nausea twisting through his stomach because now there were John thoughts and Regret thoughts tangling uncomfortably around Worse thoughts, and for a second Dave wondered how he could ever deserve John when he was the kind of guy threw things away because he thought it meant less he'd have to carry. "You said you had news for me," he mumbled, hoping a subject change would shake the sudden funk.

"Have you ever been to a wedding before?"

Though he didn't want to jump to conclusions, Terezi was the last person from whom he'd have expected to hear those words."Is that code for 'Dave, you're like a sexy dad to me. A really sexy dad who I have committed many previous, shameful, incestuous sins with, and I would like you to give me away, as my sexy dad, to some undeserving shlub who will undoubtedly die at the hands of a squawky, Greek pissant who wants to wreck me in my 'Spank Me' panties?' Or is this a rhetorical question?"

"Neither, but your rambling today is very colorful, and I would be willing to wait for another before telling you if you wanted."

"Nah, I tuckered myself out a little with that one. Lay it on me. But gently; it's my first time," he joked.

"My sister is getting married, and I need to bring a guest."

"The one you never talk about?" He laughed. "Why are you going to her wedding? Last I remember, there was some bitter blood between you two, and who would marry her? In your own words, she is 'a crazy bitch.' I guess she must have grown up hot, huh?"

"How would I know? I was a little busy being blind to get a good look at her if you forgot. Way to be insensitive."

"That guilt trip shit don't work on me anymore, T."

"Boo. Killjoy."

"I can still kiss it better for you."

"Hehehe. You wish. No, I want you to be my date to her wedding." She was filling in a distended red blob, which he suspected was blood, spreading out from under a vaguely humanoid chalk smear. His own tiny sketch had taken a life of its own, and he frowned at the subconscious sketch of John before rubbing it out and starting on another comic.

"Okay. When is it?"

"I don't know. I have to meet her for lunch today to talk her into planning this out. She says she wants everything to be a surprise, so she's not telling anyone anything. I wasn't even aware she had a boyfriend."

"You two have some outstanding communication issues you need to work out."

"Yes, but she is my sister, and I want her to be happy, so I am still going to her wedding. She's not stupid, and she doesn't half ass anything, so I am very suspicious about this whole situation. As the presiding future judiciary, it's my duty to make sure she knows that marriage is a legally binding contract and walk her through the details." Instead of replying, he clicked his tongue and stopped trying to pretend he wasn't putting his most honest effort into _not_ drawing John again. He couldn't even concentrate on his comic, so he smudged it out and decided he would draw dicks. A lot of dicks with a lot of attention to detail. Literally almost a train of anatomically accurate dicks. Chugga Chugga Chode Chode.

Somewhere between a wiry rendition of Dick Tokyo and Dickzilla stomping through the middle of it, he paused to look at her. Her hair was pushed nicely behind her ears, and he admired her for never worrying about how she looked, not like she needed to or like she was the kind of girl who would, but he could see how easy it would be to fall in love with her and stay that way with just a glance. Though he cared deeply about Terezi, he had never felt that way about her, and now she was more of a smokin' hot sibling than anything, but he understood why Karkat did. In high school, she and Dave had dated briefly, but it was mostly only to kill time, and he'd nearly ruined his friendship with Karkat because of it. The whole thing had been Terezi's idea, but probably Dave's fault. He went to the games to be ironic. Baseball, Football, whatever. If it was happening in the home stadium, he was there, and where he went Terezi followed, and where she went Karkat followed, and where he went Gamzee tried to follow but usually ended up only in the general vicinity.

That's how they met Nepeta.

She was there to cheer for her friend - some awkward, sweaty asshole with his socks pulled up to his testicles whose name Dave could barely remember -, and Gamzee managed to persuade her into leaving the visiting team's bleachers and joining them on the home side. Everyone met everyone, and history was made.

Nepeta was okay. Her sweaty friend was okay, too, but neither of them were part of the group, really, so when she made it obvious she had the hots for Karkat, it surprised them all. Out of respect for her (Because, really, it took a _special_ kind of girl to get hung up on Karkat.), Terezi dropped whatever tension had been between them and started dating Dave, hoping it would give him the incentive to pick up something with Nepeta. Of course, Karkat was already crazy for Terezi by then, and though she wasn't an option anymore he still didn't give Nepeta the attention she deserved. If they hadn't met her that day, Dave thought, Terezi and Karkat would've long since sorted through their touchy feely shit, and since Nepeta had gone off to school somewhere else years ago, there wasn't any reason for Terezi to keep herself from going after him. She still liked him. She just needed a little bit of a reminder.

"How does it look?" Her voice checked him out of his thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow at the geometric disaster she'd drawn.

"Let me put it this way. If you ever get tired of this Phoenix Wright shit, you could make a killing in modern art because that is some top dollar chicken scratch." She stuck out her tongue and reached forward to draw a long, red slash through his dick collage before her phone chimed from her pocket, and a woman's prerecorded voice called out the time until she slid it from her pocket and told it to shut up.

He passed the chalk back to her when she made grabby hands at him. "That's my cue to leave. I've never seen where she works before, so I don't want to be late."

"I can come with if you're worried how you'll look showing up alone to meet an engaged woman." Honestly, he was worried someone would take advantage of her if she was headed into a bad area. She could take care of herself, and she'd chew his ear off if she thought he was trying to coddle her, though, so he tried not to make it so obvious.

"I have got this under control, Strider. Sit your touchable backside down, and stop looking for excuses to get in this beeswax again. It is sad and beneath you."

"Ouch, good job cutting a guy to the core. I don't even want to be your date now. Take Karkat instead."

She sighed loudly and shoved the box of chalk back in her bag, standing up. "I'll call him tonight," she said, and he stood after her, feeling the score settled. He was out of Karkat's debt and back on top, and it felt great.

They parted ways with a ceremonious knocking of fists, and he made his way back into the building to grab a book for Karkat before he had to catch his own bus into downtown.

When Terezi had asked to meet him to talk that morning, he'd already planned to spend the day running errands. John had been hounding him about their impending jam session, and he wished he could have already played with him because as much as it made him nervous, he thrilled at the idea that he'd be making music with John, his passion and his passion and the two of them each in a hand. It made his whole body feel light, but his turntables were missing parts, and he wasn't about to have John over to play music on his laptop. That was for pissing around, not being serious. He was a magician. He made magic. With his fingers and his wrists, the demanding curve of his spine when he bent double over his station and pounded his heartbeat into a bassline with his elbows crooked at his sides. He wanted to make magic for John, and to do that, he needed to finish his tables. It was the only way, Dave decided, he'd be able to impress him.

So, at a quarter to five his foot was sliding from the grated metal floor of a bus to a hot white sidewalk hedging a street lined with walls made of buildings sandwiched against each other, and he shuffled down the road through the crowds. It only took fifteen minutes to get from the bus stop to where he meant to go, the top two floors of a three story building with a produce store at street level. He waved to the woman sitting on a low stool behind a shelf of fruit and hoped she wouldn't harass him into buying a bag of some hippie ass melon that would smell more like hippie armpit melon by the time he got back to his house. She didn't bother getting up, though, and he passed her by, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the landing on next floor and hitting the buzzer on the wall by the door. It buzzed back at him that it was unlocked, and he pushed into the room, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

"Sup, asshole?" He heard from the corner.

Kicking one of several crushed Red Bull cans out of his way, he crossed the room to lean over the counter on the other side, peering down over the top of his shades at Sollux. "I'm guessing your blood sugar, dick droop. What's up with all the energy drinks?" Tall, whirring motherboards and thick wires crisscrossed the room around boxes and shelves filled with computer parts, so he really doubted, if they could stomach the rest of the mess, that the cans would deter any of the customers.

Sollux thumbed the air over one bony shoulder, and Dave glanced behind him at the door to his office where he figured most of the money was made doing things so illegal he didn't want to know about them. There was no such thing as a lawful programmer. "We have a surplus. AA's pedophile uncle swung by the other day and dropped off like forty cases, so there's no reason to even restrict myself."

"Oh, right. I forgot you don't have a liver." His eyes settled on the dim, gold wedding band on Sollux's ring finger, and he wondered if he'd be the last person in his circle of friends to settle down. It seemed like everyone was hooking up or getting married all of a sudden.

"Would you look at the time? It's 'Pay Sollux for your crap and get out o'clock.'" He lifted one wrist to his eyes, and held out his other hand for payment.

Sollux was the only person who had managed to independently ferret out all of Dave's online identities, but it didn't worry him because Sollux really didn't give a shit. He'd only done it to satisfy his curiosity, and once he had he lost interest. When it took his fancy, though, or he was in a particularly generous mood, he still helped Dave in coding his websites or offered pointers on how to better script his banners and homepages. They had a mutual understanding that they stayed out of each other's hair and didn't ask any business related questions.

"My watch is slow. It looks like 'Talk about Karkat behind his back o'clock' to me." He circled the counter and plopped down in one of the two squishy beanbag chairs, waiting for Sollux to drop down into the other one.

"I'm intrigued. Go on."

"He sent his regards and thanked you lustily for the almighty, lubeless buttfucking you delivered to his hard drive. Then, he fell to his knees and started fondling himself, begging for more, asserting your godhood."

"I'm sure this isn't like a huge surprise, but that's pretty much what I am." He reached down beside him, and Dave watched his hand wrap around a small paper box and bring it up to his ear, shaking it and listening to whatever was inside rattling around. Dave lurched forward in the chair, realizing what it was, but Sollux leaned out of his reach. "Ah-ah-ah. This isn't a swap meet. Give me money."

"Don't break my part, dude. It's fucking important," he mumbled, forcing his hand into his back pocket for his wallet.

"Yeah, I know. It's for your table, right? I don't understand why you just don't go to your brother for parts. It's not like he's better at hardware than me or he built his own tables or anything." As a DJ, Dirk wasn't the best, but he didn't need to be. He was a master lyricist, and most of his success stemmed from showmanship and the fact that he built his own equipment, but Dave was better at general sound production. When your table was a veritable Bop It Extreme outfitted with enough 'Twist It/Pull It/Flick It/Spin It's to look like the cockpit dash of a fighter jet, though, you didn't need to be great at music. You just needed a crowd.

"He won't make me parts or stop vandalizing my apartment until I quit smoking," he said, handing a fold of bills to Sollux and taking the package.

"Wow, it's really almost interesting how boring that is."

"Thorry, what? I couldn't underthand you. Thoundth like there'th thomething wrong with your voithe."

"Oh wow, ha ha, yeah let's all make fun of the guy who used to have a speech impediment because obviously defective kids don't have feelings. It's not an old wound or anything, and I mean there's no way I've ever heard it before. You're so clever and politically correct and not at all offensive or awful." Dave was thinking about proving him right when the sound of keys drew their attention to the door. It swung open, and Aradia stepped into the room, hefting a paper bag under one arm and rolling her eyes at the mess on the floor. When she looked up and saw them sitting together, she broke into a wide smile and waved, coming over.

"Hello, Dave!"

"Hey." He tucked the package under his arm and levered himself out of the chair with a grunt, turning to Sollux. "Well, I gotta bust out now anyway. See you guys later." Being the third wheel to a married couple wasn't on his to-do list that day.

"Oh, alright. It was good seeing you. Come by again soon," she said. For the life of him, he would never understand what the attraction between the two of them was, but they made it work.

"For sure," he winked at her as he passed, and on his way out he saw them share a kiss across the counter from the corner of his eye. It was inevitable that he think of John afterward, and it was also inevitable that he wonder if he could pay someone to falcon punch him in the face to stop him before he tripped and fell down all the pining asshole stairs.

The woman was tipping backward on the stool, falling sleep where she sat when he left the building and made his way to the bus stop, running his thumb over the crease in the top of the box and knowing he looked like an idiot with a course selection book rolled up in either of his pockets as he did.

A jam session with John was just extra incentive to fix his baby, but as he sat in the middle of his living room atop a tangled mess of cords and components with his legs folded underneath him, turntables resting as safely as possible, spread out over the couch cushions, he felt thrilled at being caught up in his equipment again. This was what he wanted to do. Some day, he'd make a decent name for himself as a musician, and he'd play real venues, but he was trying to get school out of the way first, learn all he could about music history, composition, and audio engineering before he started making waves too big. At least, that was one reason. The other reason was that he'd already spent so much time in Dirk's shadow - first because he had been so young when Dirk broke into the music business, and second because he had put off working toward professional DJing while he worked his way to financial independence - that he already felt the pressure to live up to that legacy, and he didn't want to be shot down just because he wasn't his brother. Music made him happy, and he was good at it, so he didn't want to fail before he'd gotten the chance to succeed.

There were some days when he thought he was the only person who didn't know himself because Dirk promised that, if Dave ever asked, he'd pull as many strings as he needed to bring Dave out to play a show with him. Dave tried pretending he wasn't being serious to make himself feel better that he couldn't bring himself to ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to play for a crowd yet, but he couldn't wait to play for John, and for a moment he stopped twisting the copper wire filaments he was working on to take out his phone. John was online.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 19:41 --

TG: john

TG: you there

TG: eggs johnedict

TG: eggeanor roosevelt

TG: egg white and the seven dwarves

TG: hello testing 1-2-3

TG: your silence is eggscruciating

TG: come on man

TG: are you there or not this is good shit youre missing

EB: dave, please.

TG: finally god way to leave me hanging for an hour

EB: yeah, i didn't think you needed me to be here. you seem like you had the conversation under control.

TG: ha ha hilarious

TG: what took you so long

TG: i was starting to think you died

EB: i am playing with casey! we just got these awesome new disguises that are like half groucho marx and half gonzo from sesame street.

TG: that is the worst crap ever

EB: no way! they're so awesome! want to see?

TG: yeah sure why not

EB: hang on, i'll go get my phone.

 

He fell back onto the floor, lying across wire tracks and rolling his shoulders until they were comfortably situated around them. The cat made its way across the room from the kitchen and crawled on top of his chest, settling down to nap when his phone pinged again. He'd stopped caring about what the cat did or didn't do as long as he continued coming home to a fresh (ish) smelling house. And though he'd never admit it, he'd started to like it a lot. The fingers of one hand scratching behind its ear, he opened the picture message and hated life. It was John, just John, but that's all it had to be.

He was on his bed with the iguana in his lap, both of them wearing those stupid prop glasses with enormous fuzzy eyebrows and a mustache, but they were made of what looked like shaggy blue felt, and the nose was long and curling like Gonzo's. John was holding Casey's up to her face, and Dave wasn't surprised to see she still looked like a glassy-eyed zombie with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, but he looked so blissfully happy. That same, huge smile that made his heart flutter and those goddamn, stupid, awful, beautiful eyes were staring back at him from his phone's screen, and he almost had to close his own when even the shame wasn't enough to keep him from setting the picture as his wallpaper. When he looked over the background, though, he frowned when he saw John's laptop screen and the face of a strange man watching his back from a video call window.

 

TG: i was right

TG: thats the worst crap ever

EB: ugh.

EB: you just don't get it, dave.

TG: yeah ok so

TG: whos the guy

EB: what guy?

TG: the guy youre cam cybering with on your computer

EB: ew!!!!!!!!

EB: that is my dad, dave, don't be disgusting.

TG: shit sorry my bad

TG: i didnt know

EB: i have the heebie jeebies so bad right now, dude. gross.

TG: we can pretend i never said it if itll make you feel better

EB: it will.

TG: ok never happened

EB: awesome.

TG: do you video call with your dad often

EB: uh, yeah. i guess.

EB: i miss him a lot since i moved here, so we try to talk once a week.

EB: before you say how lame it is you can shut up because i don't care, and it's not.

TG: i wasnt going to say its lame

TG: its cool actually

TG: im not in much of a position to be judging people for their relationship with their dad

EB: why not?

TG: mines not in the picture

EB: oh, jeez, i'm sorry, dave.

TG: it hurt my mom and my brother more than it hurt me so you dont need to apologize

EB: how did it hurt them?

TG: i dont know do we really have to talk about this right now

EB: no, you can help me and my dad play a game if you want.

TG: what kind of game

EB: ok, we pick a topic and describe each other in three words the way we relate to the topic.

TG: sounds lame

EB: it's fun! come on.

TG: alright fine whats the topic and who am i describing

EB: you're describing me, and the topic is romance. go!

 

"Made for me." He whispered it without even needing time to think and cringed at himself, taking small comfort in the purring against his palm.

 

TG: without a clue

EB: wow, that was mean. you lose the game.

TG: come on dude you should have expected that

TG: you started drilling me on gay sex in the middle of the street the other day

EB: can that be something else we can pretend never happened?

TG: no fuck no

EB: jerk.

TG: im not even sorry

 

John didn't reply for a few minutes, and he closed his eyes, relaxing and feeling like he could fall asleep like that, waiting on John's next message. But the phone went off again, and he knew he wanted to doanything but sleep because he was always waiting on John's next message.

 

EB: hey, why don't you ever come to the cafe on thursdays anymore?

TG: what

EB: you came that one thursday, and i wondered why you didn't ever come in again.

TG: oh that was a one time thing

TG: i have online classes and i usually do them on thursday but the system was down that day so i came in anyway

EB: oh.

EB: that was lucky.

TG: why

EB: i don't know. nevermind, i don't even know what i'm talking about.

TG: well check this out

TG: you remember when you promised youd show me yours if i showed you mine

EB: uh

TG: what im saying is i fixed my table and im ready to make music whenever you are

EB: sweet!

EB: i guess this means i get to come over to your house finally.

TG: finally

EB: yeah, karkat and gamzee have already had me over like ten times or something. i was starting to think you hated me.

EB: but now i guess it's just because you're an inconsiderate douche?

TG: just for that i take it all back and now youll never know what might have been

EB: haha, sure.

EB: when are we doing this?

TG: whenever you have off work is convenient for me

EB: i can come on tuesday, then.

TG: ill pencil you in

EB: i can't wait.

EB: i have to go now, though. my dad's getting ready for bed soon, and i want to talk to him while i have the chance.

TG: alright later

EB: goodnight.

 

He tossed his phone somewhere behind him and let it sink in that it was really happening. He'd have to clean his apartment and find better places to store his gear so John didn't trip over everything, but it was really happening. John Egbert was going to be in his house, eating his snacks and playing music with him, and it was going to be perfect. The mental imagery alone was enough to make a guy swoon. Glancing down at the cat, he couldn't help a smile.

"If you don't piss on this guy or scratch up any of his stuff, I'll buy you an entire cut of that fifty dollar sea bass from the store and grill it for you myself." It didn't move, just kept purring on his chest and flicking its tail gently behind it. Dave took that as a 'yes' anyway, and the pathetically dreamy sigh he couldn't fight down was almost an ecstatic giggle.


	6. Homo Noodle Soup for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the wait, the length of this chapter, and the fact that it mostly unbeta'd. also, the music here...eh making an in-character playlist with purpose was one of the most tedious things i've ever attempted and i'll be loathe in the way of great personal pain if i ever have to do it again. so, those song links are real links.

When Dave woke up the next morning, it was with a pounding headache, a mouth full of cat hair, and wires pressing painfully into his back. The sun was stuffed away behind the curtains, thankfully, and he rolled over with a groan, propping himself up on his forearms to let his head hang between his shoulders. Sleeping under the air conditioner had left his throat sore, and the carpet was scratchy against his too-warm forehead.

"Bleugh..." Grimacing, he pulled the end of a sleeve over his fingers and scraped his tongue clean, so thoroughly displeased that it would be a miracle if he didn't dunk the cat head first in Nair the next time he saw it.

His living room was still covered in spare parts, and his tables were exactly as unfinished as he had left them the night before, spread out over the couch just haphazardly enough to make his whole body sag in disappointment at himself for leaving them out. There was no way the cat hadn't been crawling all over them while he was sleeping. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if it had chewed through some vital cord just to spite him. Dread invigorated his loose limbs and had him levering himself onto his feet to check, feeling the room spin briefly when he leaned over the arm rest. It looked untouched, he decided, even if that didn't make him feel any better about letting it sit out all night, and the cat was welcome to stay wherever it had disappeared. With a long sigh, he braced himself against the drowsiness and the pain at his temples and crouched in front of the cushions to finish putting everything back together as quickly as he could. 'Quickly' being subjective.

What he hadn't thought would take more than an hour at most took five, and by the time he was finished packing the last cluster of cable-tied wires into place, he felt worse than he had when he'd woken. He was so exhausted and aching that he didn't think there was anything on Earth he would rather do less than to get up again and tote the turntables back into his bedroom. The sun came in low enough through the window, sliding in whisper-like through the folds in the curtains, to confuse the light in the room, leave it bereft and unwilling to decide if it was more blue or more yellow or the dusty purple in the corners. It was just beginning to set, and as he sat trying to gather the will to move, he frowned at the graceless white streaks of it on the ceiling; too harsh when he felt so tender. When he looked back to the couch to heft his equipment against his chest, there was a wetness in his eyes that he couldn't blink away, and he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere that day even if he could have remembered whether or not he was meant to. Dragging the cords along behind him because he wasn't sure he'd be able to right himself if he stooped to pick them up, he shuffled his way into his bedroom, setting his armful down as gently as he could manage before plopping down into his computer chair and pressing in the fat button on the monitor, pouting at the screen until it hummed and fizzled into static life.

Pesterchum flashed insistently at him, and he felt even more unhappy when he saw he'd missed messages from John, wordlessly opening their chat.

 

TG: alright later

EB: goodnight.

EB: i lied. dad went to bed, and i can't sleep now, so since you're still awake i think you should talk to me.

EB: i am feeling slightly stressed about things.

EB: or not.

 

His mouth made a hard line. By then he had already fallen sleep on the floor without signing himself out of pesterchum, and John had been left alone to deal with whatever it was. Of course, Dave was the only one who'd have mindlessly continued talking to no one after that, but John wasn't in the same habit of willfully embarrassing himself and the messages stopped there. He should have known that being tired so early in the evening was a bad sign, and if he'd been paying attention he would have taken something but he'd been distracted - John, always distracting him like he had any sort of business being so good at it - and because of it he would have to suffer the consequences. John was offline, most likely at work, and the only other person available who he had any desire to start a conversation with was Rose, so he slowly moved his fingers over the keyboard.

 

TG: rose im sick

TT: The first step is admitting there is a problem.

TG: im serious here i dont know whats wrong

TT: That certainly sounds confusing. An underweight boy with a deficient immune system who smokes, deliberately maintains a poor, imbalanced diet whilst refusing to adhere to a vitamin regimen, and has been incorrigibly frequenting a dining establishment daily occupied by high volumes of strangers is feeling ill.

TT: It is a mystery.

TG: arent you supposed to be all compassionate and offering to bring me soup and a wet rag for my neck or something

TG: what happened to the maternal instinct

TT: It would seem that every available resource of maternal instinct has been apportioned to Kanaya. However, my penchant for sarcasm aside, I am concerned for your health and would certainly be willing to bring you soup.

TT: I'll begin the broth immediately.

TG: oh my god

TG: the broth

TG: nevermind id rather just die from whatever strain of dysentery this is

TT: That seems more than a little dramatic.

TG: if the pretentious lesbian passive aggression doc marten fits

TT: I've been barred from wearing Doc Martens in the house. Kanaya has threatened chainsaw seppuku, and I'm not certain enough that she was joking to test the waters.

TG: yeah great that wasnt the point but im psyched to hear about your super model rocket scientist high fashion three time olympic gold medalist girlfriend with the thin ankles and the pedigree whos great with kids and your xxx adventures in slumberland

TG: that never gets old

TT: Oh boy. Dirk did mention that you were bitter over your recent lack of "tang."

TG: thats just enough of an orange drink pun to be an acceptable thing he said

TG: but thats not even what i was saying i was talking about how everything always has to be a statement with you

TG: you could just open a can of campbells chicken and dump that bad boy into some tupperware

TG: cart it over to me posthaste

TG: make that shit into a timeless american gesture of get well soon

TG: but nah you have to go begin the broth

TG: using some ancient recipe recovered from the lost continent of atlantis

TG: stewed in the gilded asshole of a dead arabic sheikh and chanted over for forty days and forty nights

TG: just go to walmart and get something i can eat without feeling like im contributing to a weird in joke at my own expense

TT: iioohggg5g''';";; I Would Sooner Feed You Asshole Soup

TT: Go To Bed Dave And Put It From Your Mind

TT: She Will Not Be Preparing Any Broth

TT: Leave The Pampering To Us

TG: alright im out

TG: peace kan

TG: im trusting you not to let her kill me

TT: It Is A Fair Exchange For Your Acknowledgement Of My Prodigiously Noteworthy Ankles

TT: asmmm,l/??dlsssd//i ,ii I'm still not feeding you soup from a can.

 

She signed out immediately afterward, and Dave guessed it was to keep Kanaya from stealing the keyboard again. The headache was more painful than it had been that morning, and he powered off the monitor again. It was all he could do to stumble across the room and topple over onto the bed. His fever was coming on gradually, and he was too flustered from it to bother with the blankets. When he was hit with a face full of fur from the cat settling itself dismissively on top of his head, he reached out and shoved it over the edge of the mattress. Either it was too fat or too unsuspecting, but for whatever reason it made no attempt to roll onto its feet and hit the floor like a sack of rocks. Curiosity mounted in Dave after several minutes of silence, and he shifted across the blankets to lean over and see the cat sprawled out exactly where it had landed, all four feet in the air and spine screwed into a position that was uncomfortable to even think about. "If you weren't such a lazy piece of shit, I'd be worried you were dead."

He rolled back to the middle of the bed and closed his eyes, sliding easily into hot unconsciousness.

 

A knock at the bedroom door woke him, and he groaned, lifting a heavy hand to cover his eyes though the room was dark. The sun had set, and he couldn't imagine what time it was, but his head felt like it was full of cotton. "Dave?" Rose's gentle voice was relieving, and he felt the bed dip down under her weight, the heat of the room sweltering. Her hand felt so cool against his head, though, and he turned over, burying his face in the soft fabric of her dress over her thigh and inhaling her perfume and the smell of hot, fresh food. "You're burning up," she whispered. They were born ten minutes apart, but somehow she was always so much older, more mature, willing to take care of him. Guilt gnawed at him, and his stomach responded, growling angrily. He shook off some of the haze to push himself up and drag his sweatshirt over his head.

"There's no need to get up on my account. If you feel this bad, you should stay in bed and allow me to bring you a dose of acetaminophen."

"Normally, I'm the last guy to refuse more sleep and beautiful ladies catering to my needs, but you got the house smelling like there might actually be food here for once, and I haven't eaten in - What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty P.M."

"Over a day. Got to fix that, even if I melt and start animorphing into Gumby half way to the kitchen."

"In that case, you may want to tidy yourself up."

He snorted. "You trying to say I'm ratchet?"

"Not in so many words, but I doubt your guests would be as willing to let it slide if you left your bedroom without at least brushing your hair."

"Who's in my apartment right now? Seriously."

"Take my advice and dress. I'll go fix a plate for you." She stood from the bed and in a quiet sweep of her skirt was gone, leaving him alone to lament his life choices and search for a hair brush.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do but change his clothes without going to the bathroom, but he'd have to pass through the living room to get there anyway, so he fought his way into a clean shirt and decided his boxers would be fine because he didn't own shorts. He'd forgotten his glasses on the floor with his phone, too, and he felt anxious that he couldn't text Rose and ask her to bring them, but his stomach growled again, and the smell of food coupled with the promise of aspirin was a more powerful motivator than his want to hide in his bedroom. His eyes closed, hands lifted, feet took the initiative, pushed the door open wide and let the light fall on him aggressively, taking time to follow along after the voices he could now hear married in conversation. One Dirk's, and the other, as he passed around the corner and cracked an eye to discover, John's.

Both of his eyes opened wide, and his heart banged against his ribcage. He didn't know what to do then, and all he could think was that he'd forgotten his glasses on the floor and was entirely without something witty to say. His brother seemed to pick up on the tension immediately, and before Dave had been speechless enough to need an excuse for it, he was standing between him and John with shades in hand, gently slipping them onto Dave's face. As easy as that, security found him again, and with it came words. He shot Dirk a discreet thumbs up that John wouldn't be able to see which he returned understandingly, and stepped around him.

"Weren't satisfied seeing me on the day-to-day? Got to commit home invasions to get your required daily dosage now, huh, bro?"

"Dave, you look like Chicken Little. I'm not here to ogle your bony, white legs," John rolled his eyes. Dave's gaze fell to the brown paper bag in his hand, and he wished he'd had thought to clean up the house a little. It wasn't as much of a disaster area as it had been a few months before, but there were still spare parts forgotten every few feet. His phone was resting on the edge of the coffee table, and the sound of Rose pattering around in the kitchen could be heard from where he plopped himself down in front of it pitifully, rolling his head back onto the couch cushion beside John's thigh. A smirk cracked John's face, and he looked down at him with amused blue eyes. "Not so tall when a fever takes you down a few notches."

"It's okay to be jealous, John. One day you'll be a real man like me with chest hair and everything."

"You don't have chest hair. As John aptly put it, you have the body a prepubescent cartoon chicken," Dirk provided, sinking back into the single chair in the room and crossing an ankle over his knee.

"Busted. I have chest hair! I can show you what it looks like if you're curious." He looked positively thrilled to have something over on Dave, who regretted that he couldn't keep himself from picturing John nude.

"Keep your shirt on, Egbert. Give me a break; I'm practically dying here. How did you even know I was sick?"

"That would be my fault," Rose answered. "Also, I stored the remainder of the soup inside the fridge between the preserved lampyridae and the pair of shoes in the empty casserole dish." She chose that moment to enter from the kitchen, carrying a tray of mugs that she must have brought from her own house, and Dave's mouth started watering at the smell rolling off of them in puffs of white steam.

Dirk scooted up in his chair to grab the thermos she handed down. "She told me. I told Jake. Jake told John."

"You talk to Jake?" Dave raised an eyebrow.

"They have a lot in common," she said, handing another to John who thanked her with a smile, and motioned for Dave to hold out a hand which she dropped two pills into. He tossed them back, raising the mug she gave next to knock appreciatively against her own.

"Yeah, neither one knows how to watch a movie whose length isn't directly proportionate to its intrinsic shittiness," Dirk said around the lid of his thermos. John shot him a nonplussed look and sighed heavily.

"What do you even know about good film? Have you ever directed a movie, Dirk?"

"Actually -," he began, and Dave knew he was about to say something horrible and prolonged about x-rated puppets.

"Shut the fuck up, Dirk. So help me, God," he gargled around a mouthful of soup, hurriedly swallowing the aspirin and dribbling some down his chin in the process. John laughed, and Rose handed him a napkin, settling herself on his other side while he cleaned his face. "Fuck, what is this? Chicken and stars?" he moaned blissfully.

"Home made and sans celery, exactly as you prefer. Kanaya aided in the tailoring of the recipe so that you could be sure there was no underlying passive aggression."

"Your girlfriend is a super hero," he said incredulously.

"Word." They bumped fists, and everyone was content to finish eating in easy silence until Dave finished, setting his mug down on the table with a clink.

"So, why are you in my house again, John?" Before he could finished asking the question, he felt Rose's fingernails dance up the back of his neck, and he nearly whimpered when she started playing with his hair, managing to restrain himself just enough for appearance's sake.

"Well, you never came in today, so I asked Jake if he knew what had happened because I was worried." Dave saw the corner of Dirk's mouth quirk upward, and he held up a hand in his direction.

"Spare me. You people act like I stalk the joint." The silence that answered him was dually embarrassing and annoying, even more so when looks were exchanged between all three of them across the room. "Fuck everybody here," he said, and scowled, scanning the room for his cigarettes.

"If you're looking for your smokes, don't bother," Dirk said. "They're in the trash."

"Dude, wow, that shit ain't free. You can't keep doing whatever you want to my stuff whenever you feel like it."

"Looks like I can." Dave groaned and set his head down on the table, closing his eyes and sending out black vibes toward Dirk and everything he held dear.

"I would tend to agree with Dirk."

"Yeah. Same, Dave. Smoking is really bad for your heart, and you don't look as cool as you think when you do it. You're not a rebel; you're just an enormous douche who's killing himself and worrying the people who care." Dirk laughed outright, and Rose demurely played off her own with a cough.

"That goes doubly for Dave," Dirk said.

"Why?"

"You've seen his eyes."

"Yeah." If Rose hadn't been stroking his scalp the way that made him feel like dozy butter, full and warm and drugged, he'd have tensed thinking of what John probably thought of him. This discussion wasn't one he wanted to have, so if Rose and Dirk were willing to have it for him, that was fine by him. Talking was too hard when you had to say things with meaning.

"His immune system is weak. In conjunction with the whole eye thing, it's one in a set of congenital defects. Unlike his sister, dumbass here won't exercise, eat right, or take his meds. Bonus round: because he's a genius, he smokes."

"You've forgotten how he makes a second home of public bus stops,"

"I exercise sometimes," Dave defended weakly, voice muffled behind his arms.

"Oh my God, Dave, are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Shut up, John." He was feeling worse by the minute. "You don't know anything about it."

"I do, though! I'm going to school to be a cardiologist. You really do need to take better care of your body."

"Another doctor. Awesome. Can we drop this discussion now, please?"

"Actually, yes, I'd be interested to hear more about you, John," she said. "Why cardiology? That's not a field of study you hear young men such as yourself pursuing very often."

"Oh. Well. It is kind of a long story."

"We've got time," Dirk said, and they did. John told them about Washington, placid neighborhoods, and a dad who wasn't really his dad but who should have been. When it was just spring enough to be summer, John was left in a drainage ditch on the edge of a road with nothing to protect him from the world but a diaper, and it was on accident that his dad had driven by. That's what was funny, John said. His dad was meant to be on the other side of town at some business engagement, but he'd taken a wrong turn and gotten lost, and in doing so he'd found a baby. It was hard, his dad told him, to keep John because there were laws to uphold and investigations to be done, and even after that his dad had needed to pass tests and sign papers certifying him Fit to Raise Children, but he had done it all. When John was just starting middle school, he'd broken into his father's room and found the adoption papers, and it had hurt enough that he said for a while he wasn't sure if things would ever go back to the way they had been, but his dad was still his dad, and still loved him, so they had. There was just a new knowledge about their relationship. Sometimes, he'd think that he wasn't really his father's son, and he wished he could have been, but that was it. He learned to confront things instead of trying to pretend like they didn't exist. At fifteen, when his father fell down in the kitchen having a heart attack, he forgot about mothers who left babies in ditches and gave up having any kind of personal life to study as hard as he could and make sure that he got into a good college because he had to take care of his dad the way he had taken care of John. By the end of the conversation, Dave couldn't decide if he wanted to call his mom or try to kiss John until the things that had happened to him hadn't, but what he felt as the drugs kicked in and his eyes closed against his will was not just that he was beautiful to look at.

John Egbert was beautiful because he understood.

He slept, and this time it was short-lived. Tight pain - fingers pulling in his hair - woke him, and he jerked. "Watch your bear hands, Hulk Hogan." He turned to face Rose, but one of her hands was propping up her head on the couch arm, and the other was resting in her lap. Drawing his hand away from Dave's hair, John smiled apologetically when Dave turned to stare at him.

"My hands got tired," she dismissed, and he felt tingly all over, drowsy beyond reaction. Soft and hot, the pad of John's thumb rubbed across the ridges of his spine when his hand fell away, and Dave held in a shiver, looking imploringly at his brother through his shades. They all needed to leave because, at that moment, he was out of his limits and ill equipped for sorting through mixed signals and handling them. There was nothing he could do but sleep and try not to think of John, and he definitely didn't need hands all over him, making it harder than it already was.

Dirk stood. "I think it's about time for us to go." Rose nodded and gathered her purse up from beside her, following suit after John.

"Yeah, we might miss the movie if we don't leave now." Escorting them to the door, he stopped at the threshold, feeling left out of the loop.

"Oh, don't look like that, Dave," she said, "It was a last minute decision made while you were sleeping."

"We'll bring you out when you don't look like your blood's been replaced with embalming fluid, bro."

"Don't say that or we will never get to bring him anywhere," John joked. Dave nodded shortly, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Rose. "By the way, those are nice boxers."

"You like 'em? I bought those for him as a gag gift when we were still living with our mom because he hated cats, but since it would seem that he genuinely likes cats now, the joke is moderately more hilarious," his brother cracked, and Dave didn't think his face could be any stonier.

"Rest well, brother." Rose offered her hand to Dirk, and he lead her away, leaving them alone together. All he could think of were John's hands.

"I guess we are going to have to postpone our jam session again." Something about the way John would only look him in the eye when Dave made an attempt to meet his gaze was stressed, and he nodded. 

"Looks that way."

"Alright, well either get well soon or die before I get bored waiting around and have to find better friends."

"I'm completely willing to sneeze on you." John snorted and leaned in without pause to put his arms around Dave, and in the split second before he went stiff as a board, he realized that John was not quite as short as he'd teased him for because if he had been, his breath would not be so close, a hot reminder of want against Dave's neck. If he'd thought it was a possibility that he'd end up with John Egbert in his arms that evening, he'd have dabbed on some cologne or drawn up a clever excuse to avoid it entirely, but there he was without hope of rescue, unable to move or breathe. Whether or not he meant for it, John picked up on Dave's discomfort, easing back to face him, and Jesus Christ his eyes were blue in an indefensible way. Dave was almost in pain from how near their mouths were, holding himself back only tenuously from taking the chance.

"Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess," he cleared his throat, bringing his arms against his sides again when he moved to stand at the top of the steps. "We'll talk soon. I'll bring a DVD by, and we can all watch it together. Make it up to you."

"Okay." It was the only thing he could say. Briefly, John appeared to be considering saying more, but he let it go and turned away, and Dave was left to retreat into his house and luxuriate in his own sickness and emotional upheaval. He teetered onto the couch, still warm with body heat, and peeled his shirt from his sticky chest, casting it into a corner to be forgotten until he didn't feel as if he were three degrees away from singeing the threads in the hem. An awkward lump was pressing against his back, and he swept an arm under himself to grab for it, tugging it free to see the paper bag John had been holding earlier. Lifting his shades to sit on his head, he sent a hand inside to feel around and withdrew a pair of shitty prop glasses - half Groucho Marx, half Gonzo from Sesame Street - and a styrofoam box of cake from the cafe with a note taped to the top which he detached to read.

  


_heard you weren't feeling well, so i made this for you._  
 _it's free so it'll taste good, plus i'm awesome at baking.  
these glasses are for you even though you suck and won't appreciate them,  
but they will grow on you, i promise!_

  


The bag hit the floor, and he shut his eyes, holding the note to his chest for a reason that didn't exist and wouldn't have made sense if it did. Turning to face the back of the couch, he inhaled the smell of John's cologne and slept.

For two days, the most he was willing to move was from the bathroom to the bed and back again, and when his phone went off with a message he ignored it. His family knew better than to try talking to him while he was sick, and John either had enough common sense not to waste his time or honestly wasn't worried about it. He sent Dave a message only once to say that he was sorry about not taking Dave with them to the movies, and he would bring one of his own to watch with Dave as soon as he'd recovered, but he'd sent the message when Dave was offline, and he hadn't been online any of the times Dave had woken up long enough to sign in. On the third day, the aches had stopped, and when he opened his eyes he rolled over in his bed to see that the early day was a milky yellow outside. His hands slipped under his pillow to find his phone, where he'd stuffed it before he'd fallen asleep. The bottle of aspirin Rose had left with him was uncapped on the nightstand, and he wrapped the long fingers of one hand around it, holding the neck to his mouth to tip two pills straight back and swipe a thumb over his phone's touch screen with the other.

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC] at 10:01 --

TG: hey so howd it go with your sister

TG: and the human megaphone

GC: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, STRIPPER.

TG: someone fetch the aloe ive been burned

TG: where is she

GC: SHE'S SLEEPING.

TG: seriously

GC: WE WERE AT HER SISTER'S HOUSE UNTIL FIVE IN THE MORNING DISCUSSING THE DETAILS OF THE IMPENDING CONTRACTUAL IDIOT JUBILEE.

TG: ok thats nice and thanks for letting me know but im going to have to peace out then 

TG: my headache finally stopped and all the broken caps are conjuring the aural phantom of your pubescent cat yowl in my ears

TG: tell terezi to pester me when she gets up

GC: WAIT, LISTEN. I KNOW IT'S BEEN ESTABLISHED THAT WE CAN'T STAND EACH OTHER.

GC: AND EVEN THOUGH THAT'S 100% MONEY BACK GUARANTEED YOUR FAULT FOR BEING WHAT AMOUNTS ESSENTIALLY TO A GREAT BIG BAG OF DICKS WITH A FACE

GC: I APPRECIATE YOU PUTTING IN A GOOD WORD FOR ME WITH TEREZI.

GC: HOWEVER, NEVER DO THAT AGAIN BECAUSE IF I HAD WANTED TO BOTHER HER I WOULD HAVE.

TG: you did want to bother her you just didnt do it

TG: that was your whole problem in high school remember

TG: wanting to do something but never getting over yourself enough to actually do it

TG: and honestly karkat if you dont get it together soon im going to do literally everything in my power to keep her from being interested in you because she deserves better than someone whose best excuse for never taking a chance is fear

TG: make the effort

GC: WHAT A SURPRISE. WE'RE BACK TO STRIDER BEING A HUGE BAG OF DICKS, THINKING HE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING AND ISN'T IN REALITY A CLUELESS HYPOCRITE. WHILE WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT OF HYPOCRISY: HOW'S IT GOING WITH JOHN?

TG: no ones allowed to ask about your business without having their ass chewed off for being invasive but somehow you feel totally justified asking about everyone elses

TG: change of subject im going over to your house in a couple days to smoke

GC: THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.

TG: all that aside though im serious as a heart attack about terezi

GC: THIS MAY SURPRISE YOU, BUT SO AM I, WHICH IS WHY I DIDN'T FORCE THE ISSUE WHEN SHE ALREADY KNEW HOW I FELT. IT'S NOT HER PROBLEM I'M SO FUCKED UP ABOUT IT.

TG: being honest and bringing the issue up isnt forcing it theres a difference

TG: a lot of shits happened since we graduated and shes in a different place

TG: she might want something real to happen with you and your non-confrontational bullshit could ruin that

TG: so dont force the issue but dont fucking smother it to death either with your tired defeatist routine when you dont actually know what it is

TG: stop rolling over to let every shitty circumstance dry fuck you in the ass and calling it fate

TG: if you still like her tell her and be direct about it

TG: after that if she still doesnt go for you then you can start in with the que sera seras

GC: I KNOW ALL THAT, BUT SHE'S DEALING WITH A LOT OF COMPLICATED THINGS RIGHT NOW, AND I'M NOT GOING TO DROP THIS ON HER PLATE WHILE SHE'S IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS TRAIN WRECK OF STRESS AND FUNDAMENTALIST RETARDATION. WHEN SHE HAS TIME TO WORRY ABOUT MY FEELINGS, I'LL TELL HER. UNTIL THEN, I'M NOT SELFISH ENOUGH TO BOTHER HER WITH THEM.

TG: shes a big girl man

GC: AND I'M A BIG BOY. I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.

TG: alright i think thats my cue to ollie out of this conversation

GC: I'M DELETING THIS LOG NOW.

TG: deuces

 

He hid the phone back under the pillow and shook his head. If Karkat meant what he said, it wouldn't be a problem, but if Terezi got it in her head that things would work out - be different finally - and nothing changed, it would be Dave's fault for convincing her that it would. First and foremost, Dave was her friend, and if he damaged the trust between them by leading her on to make a bad decision like that, it would kill. She wouldn't blame him because, like he'd told Karkat, she was a big girl and every decision she made was ultimately her own, but he'd be mad at himself for influencing her even the slightest if it came to having her heart tossed around.

Before he had time to worry about it, there was a knock at the door, and he stopped, craning his neck to look at his window as if he could see the person by imagining them. He swore, bouncing on the bed to find his feet on the floor and scanned the room for a shirt. If he were smart, he'd do some laundry, but he was already so behind in his work that he didn't have time, so he was eagerly looking forward hanging out in his boxers for at least the next few days. Whoever was outside would probably not be so excited for it, though, he thought, so he grabbed his shades and the first ratty sleep shirt he saw, stretching it over his head as he made his way out. There were holes - some hardly noticeable while others were hard to look away from - in the armpits and on the hem where time had frayed the threads to nonexistence. It was so comfortable to sleep in, though, that he couldn't morally toss it out, and he wasn't about to break out the cufflinks to talk to whichever asshole of the week was squatting on his stoop anyway.

They knocked again as Dave's hand was on the chain, and he slid it back, throwing his shades on and staring in surprise when he opened the door to see John smiling and holding a stuffed grocery sack under his arm. "John. Bro. Hi."

"I hope I didn't wake you up or anything, but you haven't been to the cafe, and Rose said you hadn't left your house in a few days, so I thought I should check on you and make sure you hadn't _really_ died." Dave pressed against the wall to let him by and watched John make a bee line for the kitchen, kicking the door shut before following after him and regretting the shirt. There was a stack of cat food tins on the counter beside John, who was still unloading things from the bag, and Dave swore, scooting in next to him to help sort the groceries.

"Thanks for this. I've been so sick I haven't been able to go to the store."

"I know. We already figured out you were an inconsiderate douche, so I knew you wouldn't have."

"Egbert, if I were any more tired of your bullshit, I'd be narcoleptic." John laughed and reached to open a cabinet, but Dave snatched his wrist away, holding it in a vice grip and shaking his head even as John raised an eyebrow at him. "Trust me. Here," he said, resting a hand a little too eagerly on John's hip and maneuvering him out of the way. With a hard tug, he popped the cabinet door open and watched a pile of swords and smuppets tumble out. John's other eyebrow went up.

"What the hell is with that?"

"A blood feud. The thing is: just don't open anything in the house, check for trip wires, and don't plug anything in without wearing rubber gloves. Also, don't own anything of value because the cat will probably shed its entire net weight in hair on it." His hand fell away from John, who had gone stiff, and he moved back to the counter, pushing the pile around with his toes. "Don't worry about it. I'll clean up later. What else did you bring?" As skeptical as he looked, John complied, lifting a bottle of apple juice from the bag. Dave could only think that, if he weren't already hell bent on whisking John away for an iconic romantic weekend in Lake Tahoe or the Bahamas or wherever yuppie putzes made it a habit of having uninterrupted hours of monogamous sex, he would have been after that. "How soon are we announcing our engagement? Don't roll your eyes like that, this is an honest-to-God marital solicitation, and it's no time for mocking holy institutions."

John set the bottle down and dumped the rest of the bag out on the counter beside the pile he'd already set out, mostly vegetables and dehydrated lunches, but he brought out a bag of cheese puffs and Dave's stomach made a very loud, persuasive argument which he barely resisted in favor of seizing it from his hands. "So, where am I supposed to put all of this stuff if the cabinets are booby-trapped? We can't just leave it out; there are vegetables here. They'll spoil."

He jerked his head toward the fridge. "In there if you don't mind bugs."

"Excuse me." He silently stalked toward it at John's nonplussed scowl, pulling back on the handle so he could see the few pieces of his bug collection which he kept there. "Dave, is that a human fetus?"

"That one's fake. Novelty. Ironic."

"I don't think ironic means what you think it does."

"Shut up. Put the lettuce in the drawer."

"I didn't say it was bad. You're definitely a dweeb, but it's kind of adorable!"

"Shut up. Put the lettuce in the drawer." He held his expression flat even with his heart pounding and reached in to slide the drawer out. Because he rarely bought vegetables, it was the cleanest part of the fridge, and he shrugged off John's snickering. "Bug collecting's a refined hobby practiced throughout history by geniuses and real cool dudes who don't need your uncultured opinions. What do you collect?"

"Attitude from peaky blonde guys who wear stupid sunglasses inside the house," he quipped, tossing the groceries inside and knocking the door closed again, leaning against it to look up at Dave, far too self-satisfied.

"What can I say? We can't all have your unflappable fashion sense and prance around rockin' baggy khaki shorts and an overbite." Throwing up his middle finger, John's eyes roved over the room, taking everything in, and Dave reflexively checked it himself. "We never got that chance to jam, but I can still give you the grand tour while you're here. If you want. We could make this happen," he said. It earned him a smile.

"That sounds great. I have a little while before I need to be back at work, so, yeah. Let's make it happen."

Dave bowed as low as he dared for fear of going lightheaded again, and with a sweep of his arm sent John head of him. "After you."

His apartment wasn't big or lavish or impressive, really. It was a barely-furnished bachelor pad, and what money he did spend was on gadgets, so the grand tour was more of a five-minute walk around during which Dave ignored his belongings in favor of talking up the "exquisite French windows" that he didn't have, and the "classic antique doorknobs" which weren't antique so much as dull from twenty years of constant use. By the time they'd gotten to Dave's room, the last in line, John was so exasperated by his babbling that he flung himself onto the bed face first and pretended to be comatose until Dave reminded him that he had been sleeping sick there for several days in a row. So, he tumbled limply over the edge and continued pretending to be comatose on the floor.

"Mmoh mmy Gmmdh, dmo you evmr shut up?"

"I could speed it up and deliver this whole 'No Place Like Home' impartation in the style of sweet Strider rhymes."

He lifted his head to give Dave the most displeased look he'd ever seen, all furrowed eyebrows, thrust-out lower jaw, and a short, forced huff. "Impart it up your ass, dude," he griped, eyes roving over the room. Dave panicked for a moment when he couldn't remember if he'd left any dirty underwear out, but a clandestine look around told him no, and he stood quietly while John propped himself up on his elbows and took in everything from the stacks of CDs piled around the floor to the photographs clothes-pinned to the wires strung up across his ceiling until they stopped on his turntables. Dave had nothing to say about this room. He could talk for hours about the rest of the house because it was really just empty space to put crap in, but his room was his sacred space, and it didn't require explanation. A look around could tell you more about who he was than he ever could. "So, is that it?" John asked, standing and moving across the room to stand in front of it. His hands were already reaching out to move switches when Dave stepped up fast and bumped him out of the way.

"Woah there, young padawan. You gotta master the Force before you can play with the lightsaber."

"Then show me how it's done, Obi-Wan." He cocked his hip to the side, and Dave hated that the sudden excitement - he was going to play for John, The John Egbert - was already too much, and he was hit with wooziness too strong to stay upright, holding himself up with a heavy palm on the corner of his table and pretending to check out the wires in the back. John didn't fall for it and put a hand to Dave's back to steady him. "Are you okay?"

He shook it off. "Yeah, I just ain't got time to stand around giving free shows to every Tom, Dick, and Hairy Dick who walks in."

"Ha ha," he mocked, trailing off to check behind himself with a low hum before hauling the computer chair across the room and forcing Dave into it with an insistent shove. "Here. No more postponing. If you can't stand, then play like this."

"You can't DJ sitting down, Egbert. Don't you know the unwritten rules of mixing? Shit is lame." Rumpled, he felt less than accommodating, trying to right himself and straighten his shirt when John hopped onto his bed - shoes and all - and crossed his legs under himself to raise an eyebrow at Dave.

"Dude, your nose is hot pink, and your shirt looks like you pulled it out of the garbage disposal. We're past the point of worrying about coming off lame," he said, and if Dave had readied any sort of clever reply beforehand, it was lost when John shot his wit between the eyes with a wide smile, and he settled for mumbling unhappily to himself and turning on the power.

As audiences went, John was the best Dave had ever entertained. While the sentiment was wasted by the fact that he'd entertained fewer audiences in his entire life than he could count on one hand, it didn't detract from how adoring he was, and how much Dave adored him for it as he sat bobbing his head and feet in time with the music. The attention went to his head, to his ego or his chest, to nestle and make him greedy in a starving way for more, and in his element he felt fresh and wonderful, forgetting how sick he was except for the occasional sniffle and when he paused briefly in his ministrations to ask John to pass him the aspirin bottle, taking extreme pleasure in the horrified look he earned when he drank the pills directly. The more his hands worked, the more curious and invasive John became until thirty minutes had passed, and he was nearly in Dave's lap, leaning in close to see exactly what he was doing as soon as he did it. His nerves left him when he noticed how close they were, and his fingers stilled over the spinning discs, unable to quite catch his breath because what air he managed to find smelled like John's shampoo. His body went entirely rigged, watching dark blue eyes flick back and forth over the equipment excitedly, waiting for the next move, and when it didn't come he twisted his neck up to look at Dave in disappointment. It vanished and blossomed into something else when he seemed to realize what had stopped Dave.

John's eyes slid down, fixating on Dave's mouth, and his lips parted reflexively in an attempt to loosen a reply, even a single word, anything, from him. Nothing came, and they were left watching each other for uneasy spare seconds while dust motes drifted like little galaxies in the lemony light drifting through the spaces between blinds, falling over his messy bedspread as golden ladder rungs. His life in that careless moment was meant for breaking pose, and he jerked an irrepressible fraction to close the distance between them. A deep, sudden breath broke them apart as soon as he'd moved, and John was jumping from the bed, feet hitting the floor and mouth working at Karkat-inspired speeds to force out words that Dave couldn't hear or focus on because he had to concentrate on hiding how embarrassingly hard his hands were shaking.

" -break's almost over anyway, and I had better be going, so, you know. Can't leave Jade there to deal with assholes by herself. She'll kick my balls into my throat, and -"

"No, yeah, totally," he cut in. "I need to hunt for new music anyway, review some tracks. Haven't had the chance to do any real work for the past few days, so," tight swallow," I'll see you later."

"Oh, yeah? Hunt for new music, huh?" Whatever had just happened between them, John was perfectly content to latch onto a new topic, and it stung.

"Yeah, it's a thing I do. Me and Karkat."

"Does it matter what kind of music? I could help you out and send you some songs later. I like sharing music."

"Go ahead," he said feeling sick, and wanted John out immediately so he could hyperventilate in peace and crawl under his covers to spend the rest of the night wishing for a time machine to go back and stop himself from answering the door. Maybe then he wouldn't have to live with the cold weight in his chest that John was visibly freaking out that Dave had nearly kissed him. But John kept talking (Deflect, deflect, deflect.) because there was no explaining it away, only avoiding talking about it at all cost.

"...some things later. I really have to go now. Hour's pretty much up, and I am going to be late as it is. I - thank you. For this. For the music. You're great."

"Do you need me to show you out?"

"No, I got it. Uh. Bye," he mumbled, and then he was gone, and Dave listened to the door slam overly hard when he left. This time, when the neighbors started in on the walls, he banged back and rather than make a video, because he knew he looked like hell, he wrote a note and posted a blank fifteen-minute recording. Some of it was anger at himself and a very little bit at John, but mostly it was things he hated that he couldn't stop thinking about; things he wanted to forget and couldn't because John-fucking-Egbert had done a one-two-step all over his heart and wouldn't let him. So, he vented. As mean and clever as was in him to be was dished out.

  
__

_kids obsessed with their parents though_  
 _where do i even start with that_  
 _but lets see if we can break this down with the poignant turn of phrase for which yours truly is infamous_  
 _if your twentieth birthday is also your china anniversary you might need to slow down friend_  
 _just a little too oedipal for my tastes or anyone but freud himself and im thinking even that pencil (woops i mean symbolic phallic writing implement) pushing busybody would hold up a stop sign before he let you lay down on his couch and start dumping out all your daddy issues_  
 _we probably cant make this work if youre arranging a bouquet of dildos and frosting spatulas to give the old man on fathers day_  
 _but i digress_

  


The video itself was one message long: "this week i look like shit so you all get to put your public educations to good use and do some selected reading," and the rest was filed in the description, and when it was done and the view-counter was ticking up, Dave didn't feel any better, so instead of turning his computer off, he unplugged it and slipped between the cold bed sheets to hold the pillow over his face and fall into a guilty sleep because he didn't mean anything he said, but it was so easy to say it and hope that it would help. It never did, but the idea of it always promised that it would, and he couldn't stop, and he was an idiot, and it wasn't fair. To John. To anyone. To him. What made it worse was that, waking up, he didn't honestly feel sick enough anymore to be able to use it as an excuse, and the guilt sat in him like a cold stone.

Even when he had moved beyond the sleepy fog, it hadn't gone away, and he regretted having unplugged his computer because he didn't feel like fumbling around in the dark searching for the cords to plug it back in, otherwise he'd have distracted himself with some mindless hours of embarrassing cat videos on the internet. His phone was still alive, though, so he substituted, thought of messaging Rose again, or even Karkat, but someone else beat him to the punch, and it vibrated in his hand. It was three in the morning, and of course John was offline, but he opened up the messages he'd sent while Dave was sleeping.

 

EB: alright, so i put some thought into making this playlist, and you better enjoy it and give all the songs good reviews.  
EB: [you are a huge loser, but i'm sorry you're sick.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3-hY-hlhBg)  
EB: [get well soon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kMZ23T9VHE)  
EB: [so you can keep your promise, and make music with me](http://mingping.com/media/downloads/A%20Little%20Different%20-%20Electrosexual%20Remix.mp3)  
EB: [p.s. get off the computer and rest](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uw7ZSP0pbY)  
EB: [p.p.s. vriska says hi](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAO8jKMm8Wc)

 

As he went through each one, he gave John his well-earned props for having the worst music taste of all time. "This is exactly the kind of horrible trash I would expect him to listen to." What annoyed him for a moment was that they weren't even new. Most of them were well-known, old, and still popular among certain crowds, but when he got to the last link, he froze with a finger over the play button, frowning at the title, and something clicked with an uncomfortable levity in him. In a rush, he opened up every link John had sent him in its own tab and reread the titles all together. With a hammering pulse, he sat up in bed and leaned over his screen, feeling either stupid or hopeful or both. With a dry mouth, he swallowed and after catching his breath for several moments, calming his nerves, he set about replying.

 

TG: [dear god your music is terrible](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaKyh8Mk5ec)  
TG: [were talking cataclysmic](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBhDaVg1E6Y%20)  
TG: [i may or may not have suffered permanent hearing loss](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mRuyDdI_ow)  
TG: [p.p.s. she wants the d](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiqjchTAzWY)  
TG: [wait shit there was no p.s.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03UJd0UePIk)

 

What was John doing? Dave didn't know if he was making it up in his head, or if it was real, if everything was a giant coincidence or John trying to play the most emotionally exhaustive tug-of-war with his feelings, but he couldn't make sense of it and hoped that he wasn't going crazy. Maybe it had meant something. Maybe it could mean something if it hadn't.

It was a long night after that, made worse by the fact that Dave was unable to go anywhere in his house without thinking of John. The stupid cake in a box with the note taped to it was still on his coffee table in the living room, his fridge was full of food John had brought over, and his bedroom. Well, hell, his bedroom was an unholy mess of uncomfortable memories. He couldn't even distract himself with his phone, either, because just holding it in his hand was a temptation to bombard John with pesters that he'd regret later, and he hated Dirk for throwing out his cigarettes because he was left to chew chinks into the ends of whatever pencils he could find until the sun was coming up. He finally managed to relax again, curling in a tight ball on the couch at some point after the sun had risen, and slept a moderate few hours until his phone went off, and he was up in a flash, stretching his fingers between the cushions where it'd fallen to pull it out, and he opened pesterchum as fast as he could.

 

EB: actually, dave.  
EB: it seemed to me like we were on the same wavelength.

 

He couldn't breathe. John was still online and in the process of writing something else that had his nerves in tatters waiting on. When he erased it, and Dave decided he'd watched the blank message window on the edge of his seat waiting for more for long enough, he thought about replying himself although with no idea what he'd say. After a moment, though, John signed out, and he let the phone slip through his fingers and hit the floor, exhaling shakily and gripping his knees. "Fuck." He needed to smoke. On the upswing of breaking his sickness, he was well enough to get out of the house and chill with Karkat for a few hours at the very least. Even if he wasn't, he'd rather be sick for another month than stay there and stagnate on his own. It took him a while, but he washed and dressed and rounded up all of the dirty tissues from the floor to throw away, pulling the blankets from the bed and stuffing them in a garbage bag to wash later. Then he cast his phone an unhappy sidelong glance, stepped into his shoes, and walked out the door.

Where John was standing with his hand raised like he was going to knock.

"Holy shit."

"Dave."

"Jeggbon."

"Jeggbon?"

He made a mental note to sew his mouth shut as soon as he'd gotten high enough to forget that he'd ever let such a horrible sound out of it. "John. Egbert. Couldn't decide."

"Jeggbon. Oh, my god, dude. Are you serious?"

"I don't - Fuck, John, you caught me unawares here. Standing on my doorstep, peeping like a Tom, and I'm the one who has to explain myself?" All he could think was what John had been writing that morning before he'd signed out, what he was going to tell Dave. If it would have been something important or more bullshit, and he wanted to bring it up. There, on his porch in front of God, the fossils next door who sledgehammered the walls every time he so much as sneezed, and the entire world, he wanted to confront him, especially when John deflated at his words and the smile shrank from his face. His hand came up, and he waved a DVD around for Dave to see, and he wanted to bring it up, bring it up, mention it, say something, ask him what he meant by that playlist, but nothing came out.

"It's my off day, so I thought we could watch that movie together like I promised."

He hesitated. "To be honest, I was just heading over to Karkat's place," he said. John sighed a quiet 'Oh' and looked disappointed enough that Dave backtracked. "You can come, but we're going to be smoking, and I didn't think you'd want to, what with your p.h.D. in tight-assery and all that."

"Yeah right. I'm not that much of a square, Dave."

"Really? So, you coming with me or what?"

He looked uncertain for a moment, glancing at the DVD before handing it over. "Let's take my car," he said, and Dave didn't bat an eyelash at the disgruntled 'Hey!' he got when he opened the door and tossed the DVD inside without watching where it fell. Though, he supposed, that made it karma when he slipped in the passenger seat of John's little green car and had to wait through twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence wherein he knew what he wanted to say, but wasn't sure if it was the same thing John did, and it was only made worse when they both tried to adjust the volume of the radio at the same time and brushed fingers. Neither said a word, and when they pulled up Dave was out of the car almost before it had stopped moving, holding his breathing steady with effort and making his way to the front door. Raised voices kept him from entering, and John seemed concerned when he stepped up to see Dave staring intently at the doorknob.

 _"I'm sorry, but...I'm not going to ever feel that way, specifically, about you, though."_ There was a dangerous crash, and John startled, Dave backing away from the door and throwing an arm across John's chest as if to protect him from something. He let it fall, embarrassed, when he glanced over and caught John's eye, who looked just as flustered.

_"Don't you have a think I motherfucking might know that by now?"_

_"Jesus Christ, Gamzee, what the gangrenous hell did you do to your - God, okay, fuck. Fuck. Tavros, you need to go. Right now. Shit, oh my God."_

_"Yeah, I'm gone."_

_"Shit, Gamzee, come here. We have to replace the damn T.V. center now, and your hand's just - "_ The door swung open then, and Tavros stopped in front of them, hands poised over the wheels. Behind him was an empty room, a paused video game on the television screen, and a fist-sized hole in the glass face of the game cabinet beside it. Karkat yelling and the sound of water running from the bathroom found them on the porch, and Dave was grateful John was less awkward at speech than either of the two of them were because it spared him having to speak. He had no doubt he'd have just made things worse by picking a fight with Tavros over this same old shit.

"Leaving already, Tavros?"

"I've been here for an amount of time which is probably excessive. So, yes. I'm leaving now."

"Alright, uhm," he moved out of the way to let Tavros by, "well Vriska says hello."

"Does she really?" His expression was so torn, like he wanted to be happy but wasn't, and Dave wondered how Vriska and Tavros knew one another.

"Yeah." John looked like he got what was happening. "She wants to talk to you."

"I know. I got her messages."

"Well...don't keep her waiting too long. You know how impatient she gets."

"I'll get to it when I get to it. See you later, John. Hopefully a lot later."

"Fuck you too, then, Comma Chameleon," Dave shot off before John could get in a reply. Tavros blew a raspberry and still refused to greet him, flipping them off and leaving in the direction of the bus stop. When he was out of sight and it looked like no one would be coming out, Dave jerked his head toward the open door, and John shrugged. They padded quietly inside, John sitting on the couch in front of the smashed cabinet and examining the messy red smears around the sharp edges of the break, leaving Dave alone to wander down the hallway. Inside the last bedroom was Karkat kneeling between Gamzee's legs, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and yelling at him while he busied his hands with wrapping a gauze bandage around the wounded knuckles he kissed at gingerly.

"...can't keep fucking coming over if this is the shit that's always going to happen. It's like watching Fox News reruns while sitting on a hot railroad spike. It's come to a point, Gamzee, and it needs to fucking stop now. Your hand. Jesus, this might need stitches."

"No hospitals." Gamzee turned his head to face Dave, leveling him with angry, lidded eyes, and Karkat looked, glaring and standing up to stomp across the room and slam the door in his face. John whispered his name from the front room, and he turned back, lowering himself onto the cushion to his right.

"What just happened?"

"Tavros "I'm A Huge Douchebag" Nitram is what happened and what never stops happening."

"Okay, but specifically and without a bunch of raps and witty junk."

"In a nutshell, Gamzee wants Tavros, and Tavros doesn't want Gamzee."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Maybe Tavros is afraid of change and isn't used to Gamzee's type of affection."

"Maybe Tavros is a moron with tunnel-vision who pisses on all of his relationships to protect his own feelings and puts up a bunch of fake fronts to avoid looking his own fuck-ups in the face." His sweatshirt was too warm for the stuffy interior of the house, and he stared down at the deep red cuff, wondering what they were talking about, why they couldn't talk about something else, why they had stopped talking, because John ceased replying after that. They were alone with their own awkward silence again while the game music played on repeat from the T.V. speakers ahead.

"So, how does Tavros know Vriska?" he asked after it had become cloying and unbearable, but when John opened his mouth to respond, so did the door to Karkat's bedroom. They both trudged around the corner, Gamzee shuffling along behind and calmer but no less morose with a bong and a baggie full of weed in his good hand.

"So who's down to pitching for this miraculous shit here?" he rumbled, and Dave reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"I've got it," he said, and Gamzee plopped his lanky body beside him, holding out the bandaged hand to grab the money and pulling a lighter from his pants with the other, frowning the whole time. Dave would be glad when they were all stoned again because the depression shit was getting old.

"Turn it to Animal Planet.," he said.

"No way; it's Shark Week. That'll fuck up our whole high."

"Stop being a bitch and flip the clicker."

"My house, my rules, Barbie," Karkat chewed out, and John snickered to his left. Gamzee saved them all the trouble of picking something and turned on the DVD player instead. Just as he lit the bowl and let the chamber fill with smoke. John eyed it, and Dave patted his shoulder awkwardly in what was probably a pathetic attempt at being comforting.

"It's fun. Just don't cough, and don't take a big hit. Whatever you do."

"Why...?"

"Trust me on this, okay."

"Okay." Gamzee lowered his face and drew all the smoke into his mouth, holding it and staring blankly at the screen.

An hour and a half later, Dave's whole body was warm butter, and he didn't give a fuck. His suffocating sweatshirt had been tossed to the corner, and a long arm had curled around John's shoulders at some point. A quick peek over told him he was feeling nice and buttery himself, making a solid go at trying to become part of the pillowy couch cushions he was sinking in to. Gamzee was smiling again, finally, and had made his way into Karkat's lap. Lying across each other as a tangle of limbs in the tiny recliner that barely fit Karkat much less both of them at once, they looked content. The other three were laughing at a joke that wouldn't be even a little amusing sober, but Dave was grinning over at John, whose hands went up to cover his mouth with dread every time his cackling got too loud, convinced someone would hear him and know he had been smoking pot. Then, he'd be in trouble, he said, and his Dad would be upset. So he had to be quiet. When Dave nearly choked on his own spit trying to hold back his laughter, he got a punch to the shoulder before John went back to slouching in to the cushions.

"Did you ever just notice how a shirt fits you? The way it just fits your arm and your body even though someone else made it! It's so crazy. Like, how do we have wars when we are all the same? I mean, if they can make a shirt in one size and it fits a million people, we're not so different. If we can all wear the same shirts. You know what I'm saying? It's so cool. I never even thought of this before."

Dave and Gamzee grinned stupidly at John, and Karkat shook his head. "You're such a lightweight, Egbert. Have some goddamn dignity. Don't start in with the stoner philosophy. You'll never stop."

"Sorry, am I being annoying? I do that, I think. I've been trying really hard not to be annoying ever since I got to California, but -"

"You're not annoying, John," Dave mumbled, diverting a paranoia episode before it started. "Just let yourself be mellow."

"Yeah, I was just thinking, but I am mellow. I'm so comfortable right now. This is the greatest thing I've ever done. I'm not worried about anything anymore. I could just." He tilted his face up to watch Dave, and he remembered they weren't supposed to be comfortable around each other because they needed to talk. "What if I just kissed you? I don't care right now. I," he tried to pry himself up, stumbling and falling forward so that Dave had to catch him by the back of the shirt.

Gamzee sat forward on the recliner like he had the same idea. "Woah, there, brother. You need to sit down. Someone sit this little motherfucker down."

"Shit. Shit, shit. Am I gay now?" He put his face in his hands, and Dave gaped. "Does this make me gay? Fuck. Do I have to go to a parade? Ugh...I'm going to have to go to protests and stuff, now. I don't even want to protest. That just seems like so much work. Or listen to disco music. ABBA. Have you ever heard ABBA, Dave? ABBA sucks so, so much.

"Oh no, now I'm gay and I have to like ABBA, and everything feels purple. Bluh, hey, Gamzee, you kind of give off purple feelings. Everything here feels purple. The air smells like it. I don't really mean like the color, either. I mean like if purple were an atmosphere, this would be it. I smell things the way purple looks, you know?

"Dude what did you put in his bowl?" Dave asked, incredulous. Gamzee had loaded it for him, since John hadn't known what to do.

"I packed it full. Wanted him to get a feel for the kind of thing it is."

"Jesus, man, he's going to start eating the fucking buttons out of the remote. Are you crazy? He's never smoked before."

"Don't call me crazy."

"Dave, I don't feel so great." He looked down to see John slumped forward with his face between his knees, covering his head with Dave's discarded jacket, and he cursed, reaching out and hauling him to his feet.

"I need to get him home." Slipping a hand into John's pants, he yanked out the car keys, and John kept a tight hold of the jacket.

"Blazing and driving? Really? More A+ decision making from Durrv Struurdurr," Karkat said.

"Not like I have a choice, is it? If he starts puking everywhere and having a panic attack because some jackass smoked him out in a strange neighborhood, I'm going to have to drive him home anyway. It's not like I'm over here rolling, either. I'm just a little baked. We're going," he stated, and helped guide John to the door on unsteady legs.

"Just don't kill any useful people," Karkat yelled after them, and Dave closed the door on his voice.

"John?"

"Ugh. What."

"Where do you live?"

"I'll guide you there."

"You sure you're gonna be able to stay awake?"

"I don't know. Shut up. This was an awful idea. You're terrible."

"I know. Come on."

 

Really, he knew he shouldn't have been driving - half baked, quarter baked, or one-one-millionth baked - and he was glad to see that there were no other cars in John's driveway when they parked. Jade was working, and their grandfather was doing something that Dave couldn't quite make out through John's sleepy mumbling. He'd wiggled into Dave's sweater while they were on the road with some difficulty, the muscles in his arms stretching out the fabric - which Dave noticed jealously - and looked like he was going to pass out any second, so he pressed to get them inside, keeping an eye on John so that he wouldn't sit down on the stoop and alarm anyone while he tried different keys until one worked to open the door. Locking it behind them, he shook John, who sighed loudly in annoyance, to ask where his room was, and had to bite back a chortle when he yanked off his shoes and stamped loudly into the pristine, white kitchen, up a set of stairs, and slapped open a door on the second floor to fall down on the bed without another word. Dave wasn't positive he'd fallen asleep until he heard quiet snoring and decided to take the opportunity to look around. It was the first time he'd been in John's house after all, and he couldn't leave him there with the front door unlocked, alone and asleep anyway unless he took the keys. That, he figured, would not make John too happy.

The first thing he noticed was the McConaughey wall. John was sleeping under a shamelessly homosexual man-mural devoted to an A-list beefcake who didn't own any shirts. He was speechless for the first time in his life. Not a single witty comment came to mind, so he moved on before his brain shorted out from trying. Pictures of his family were everywhere, and they were all gorgeous and happy. Even John's grandfather was a dish. One in particular caught his eye. It sat on his desk near his computer, a photo of a young John, who couldn't have been more than six or seven at the time, sitting in his father's lap at a piano and banging along with a wide grin and long fingers guiding his strokes. A hand-written note was stuffed into the corner of the frame, and he was too queasy seeing this beautiful family and hearing John dozing behind him to read it. In fact, he was so immediately uncomfortable at the picture of John and his father that he left the room and made his way back downstairs to find the bathroom and wait for John to wake up so he could go home, not sure why he was still entertaining thoughts that he and John could be something when it had always been obvious, even without photographic evidence, that they were different in all the wrong ways. He was just going to tell him and be finished with it. Make it easy and break off their friendship under pretense of unrequited romantic tension.

It was a couple of hours before John stepped quietly back into the kitchen where Dave was sitting on a tall stool at the island in the middle of the room, contemplating the reflections of the ceiling lights in the microwave's face. "Sorry I fell asleep."

"Sorry my shithead friends got you sick."

"Yeah, I don't think I will be again smoking for a considerable amount of time." With Dave's sweatshirt in hand, he walked over and took a seat across from him, setting it on the island between them. There was a drool spot below the shoulder where he must've rested his head in the crook of his arms, and John Egbert was mussed, warm, static-y from sleep, and so beautiful it hurt. "I slobbered on it. Sorry."

"Ain't no thang." They were alone then, and there was no more reason to avoid asking the question.

"Thank you, then."

"So, the other night you sent -"

"You could have turned on the T.V. or something, you know. You didn't have to sit here in silence for two hours," he interrupted, finding the remote for the diminutive television sitting in the corner on the opposite counter, switching it on. The empty black space filled up with the menu screen of the Matthew McConaughey version of _To Kill A Mockingbird_. He clenched a fist.

"You know what me and McClusterfuck have in common?"

"Nothing?" John said, turning back around to watch him quizzically.

"We're both suave, blonde ladykillers."

"Not even close. You're ash blonde, and he's got rugged, sandy blonde hair."

"We've both got that sexy southern twang. Not that it's actually sexy, but just that you think it is."

"Okay. I'll give you that one."

"We're both in the media industry."

"Come on!"

"Guess what we don't have in common."

"Nearly everything, including all the junk you just said?"

"I'm crazy about you, and if I knew you were somewhere out there so crazy about me that you put up a whole wall of my pictures in your bedroom, I'd drop whatever stupid thing it was I was doing that didn't matter at all in comparison and come find you." The air changed immediately, and the heavy weight that had been hovering over them all day plummeted down around their shoulders. John stared like a deer caught in the headlights, and neither of them had the strength to breathe under the weight of the situation, but as soon as his eyes darted to Dave's lips, he was standing from the bar stool, and John was climbing onto the island to kneel in front of him, hands flying out to take his face and bring him up for a kiss so hard he nearly pulled Dave off his feet. It only took him a second to remember how to breathe again and give as good as he got, jerking John down by the collar and pressing back ferociously until the rough grip in his hair became painful, and he hissed, drawing back.

Looking like he'd just stepped on his dog, John let go, and Dave coughed, lowering himself back onto his heels. "You and your Godzilla grip."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's fine. I mean, really. I, ah," he licked his lips and shivered, meeting John's eyes. "Are we going to do this? Are we a thing now?"

John frowned. "I really want to, Dave. But I've never done anything like this before. Can we take it slow?"

"We can take it to Funkytown if that's what you want," Dave said dazedly.

"I would like that a lot," he said, and Dave's pokerface broke like an old bone. When he went in for a kiss after that, it was hesitant and careful, and his heart was probably going to give out before he was thirty from all the undue strain, but when John's hands came up to cup his face, gently this time, he decided it would be worth it, smiling against his mouth.

It was ten minutes until they parted again, and Dave said his goodbyes begrudgingly, making his way to the door happier than he'd been in months. He was so distracted by glee that half way down the road he realized he'd left his bus pass in his jacket that morning and turned to go back, finding John in his driveway on his way to bring it to him, and they shared another kiss in the dark; so hard that John did manage to tip him over and leave him wobbling on weak ankles, struggling for words and promising to pester him when he got home.

 

TG: im bringing rose to lunch tomorrow

TG: youre working right

EB: jeez, dave, can't you get any REAL girls to go out with you? the only people you ever go out with are your family. do i need to be concerned?

TG: are you kidding i got bitches to the left and bitches to the right

TG: this is straight up animal rescue

EB: does that mean i can hit you in the face with a rolled up newspaper when you won't stop whining and humping my leg?

TG: kinky

TG: i didnt know you had it in you john im so proud

EB: yes, nerd, i'm working tomorrow.

TG: ok then its a date

EB: i get to serve you on our first date? how romantic. hard to believe you're single.

TG: im not anymore am i

EB: i guess not, haha.

TG: see bitches draped across me like a curtain rod

TG: got all the luscious ladies begging for a piece of the strider bod

TG: spicing up this lyrical meal like i had a seizure with the salt

EB: salt and bod don't rhyme, and that's not even funny.

TG: damn you broke my flow egbert how are you going to make this up to me

EB: i'm going to put super glue in your coffee so you can't open your mouth again is how.

TG: im really enjoying this new kinky side

EB: BLUH. GO TO BED!

TG: ok im going no need to shout

TG: ill see you tomorrow

TG: goodnight

EB: goodnight.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

TG: <3

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

EB: <3

 

The morning was clear and cool, and he didn't even mind the early hour or the fact that Rose had insisted they sit on the patio where the light could fall on them. "Really, Dave. I'm happy for you. Congratulations. He's very presentable. I'm betting you could even bring him home to the folks, so to speak." Her lips curled into a pleased crescent around the lip of her coffee cup, and he shrugged her snark off, watching John talking easily with a family at a table, and a young girl with curly blonde hair swinging her legs back and forth staring up at him and proudly sporting a milk mustache. There was no way to guess what they were saying, but from his pocket, John produced his ridiculous prop glasses and slipped them on without pause. The little girl laughed gleefully, and Dave's phone was suddenly in his hand.

Rose peered in through the window, smiling fondly when she saw what he was seeing: John giving the little girl a second pair of glasses from his pocket, and her parents thanking him dotingly. He turned to beam at Dave with a thumbs-up that the whole family mimicked, and he snorted, hitting send on the message he'd been writing.

 

TG: [p.p.p.s. you sleep like an asshole and you drooled on my arm sleeve last night [secret hidden track]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erywPdFfORE)


End file.
